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J CLASSIC 

DIALOGUES 



AND 



DRA 



COMPILED BY 

MRS. J. W. SHOEMAKER 




Philadelphia 
The Penn Publishing Company 



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finteredaccordmg to ActofCongreis, in thcycar i888 by 

THE NATIONAL SCHOOL OF ELOCUTION AJJu ORATOR\i 

!a the ofl6ce of the Libranan of Congress, at Washingt n. 

iOV 2Pt907 



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CONTENTS. 



PAGB 

Scene from Damon and Pythias, John Banim, 5 

Speeches of Zenobia and Her 

Council, , William Ware, .... 11 

Christmas Tide, 

Adapted from A. W. Bellaw by J. W. Shoemaker, . . ' 2] 
Aunt Betsey and Little Davy, 

Dramatized by Mrs. J. W. Shoemaker, .... 25 

The Murder of Thomas A'Becket, Tennyson, 38 

Scene from the Lady of Lyons, .'Bulvjer, 45 

Henry the Fifth's Wooing, . . . Shakespeare, 50 

Combat Between Fitz James and 

Roderick Dhu, 

Arranged as a Dialogue by /.BiigfAea, ... 55 

The Rivals, Sheridan,^ 61 

Lochiel's Warning, Campbell, 65 

From the Tragedy of Hamlet, . Shakespeare, 68 

Queen Mary, Tennyson, 73 

Cool Reason, Sheridan, 78 

Mary Stuart, Schiller, 82 

Saracen Brothers, 88 

The Bridal Wine-Cup, 

Dramatized by Sidney Herbert, 94 

Prince Henry and FalstafF, . . , Shakespeare, i)8 

Parthenia, From the German, . . . 103 

Trial Scene, Shakespeare, 108 

Mark Antony Scene, Shakespeare, 115 

The Quarrel of Brutus and Cassins, /SAa^-espeare, 123 

Songs of Seven, . . Adapted from Jean Ingelow, 127 

Romeo and Juliet, Shakespeare, 138 



CLASSIC 

DIALOGUES AND DRAMAS. 



SCENE FKOM DAMON AND PYTHIAS. 

Adapted. 



A scaffold, with steps ascending to it. — In the hack oj the 

stage the gates of a prison. — Executioner with an Axe, 

and Guards discovered. 

Enter Damocles and Procles. 

Proc. — It is a marvelous phantasy, thou speakest of 
In Dionysius. 

Dam. — Yes, his mind is made 
Of strange materials, that are almost cast 
In contrariety to one another. 
The school and camp, in his ambition, make 
A strange division : " with the trumpet's call 
He blends the languor of the poet's lyre! 
The fierce, intrepid captain of the field 
Hath often, on the great Athenian stage, 
(^oped with the mightiest monarchs of the Muse; 
And, in miue apprehension, he doth prize 
The applauses of that polished populace, ' 
More than the rising shout of victory. 

Proc. — "And, over all, that science, which doth hold, 
Touching the soul and its affections, 
6 



S SCENE FROM DAMON AND PYTHIAS. 

Its high discoursing, hath attracted him." 

It is his creed, that, in this flesh of ours, 

Self ever entertains predominance ; 

And, to all friendship, he hath ever been 

A persevering infidel. For this, 

Belike, he tries a strange experiment. 

What say est thou? Will Damon come again ? 

Dam. — "Our love of life is in the very instinct 
Of mere material action, when we do 
Even so slight a thing, as wink an eye 
Against the wind. Place me a soulless dog 
Upon the bare edge of a height, and he 
Shall shudder and shrink back, though none have proved 
To his capacity that the fall were dangerous." 
I hold the thing impossible. 

Proc. — He'll not! 

Dam. — What, when he feels his pent-up soul abroad. 
His limbs unfettered, "and the mountain-breeze 
Of liberty all around him, and his life 
Or death upon his own free choice dependent?" 
*Tis visionary! 

Proc. — But is there no hope 
Of Dionysius' mercy? 

Dam. — He'll not give 
A second's hundredth part to take a chance in. 
"His indignation swells at such a rashness, 
That, in its fling of proud philosophy. 
Can make him feel so much out-soared and humbled* ** 
What a vast multitude upon the hills 
Stretch tlieir long blackening outline in the round 
Of the blue heavens! 

Proc. — They wait the great event. 
**Mute expectation spreads its anxious hush 



SCENE FROM DAMON AND PYTHIAS. 7 

O'er the wide city, that as silent stands 
As its reflection in the quiet sea." 
Behold, upon the roof what thousands gaze 
Toward the distant road that leads to Syracuse; 
An hour ago a noise was heard afar. 
Like to the pulses of the restless surge ; 
But as the time approaches, all grows still 
As the wide dead of midnight ! 

[TAe gates of the prison are flung open, and Pythias ii 
discovered. He advances to the scaffold. 
[To the Executioner.'] There is no pang in thy 

deep wedge of steel. 
Nay, sir, you may spare 
Yourself the pains to fit me for the block. — 
Damon, I do forgive thee ! — I but ask 
Some tears unto my ashes ! 

\^A distant shout is heard. — Pythias leaps upon the 
scaffold. 
By the gods 

k. horse and horseman ! — Far upon the hill, 
They wave their hats, and he returns it — yet 
I know him not — his horse is at the stretch ! [J. shout. 
Why should they shout as he comes on ? It is — 
Ko ! — ^that was too unlike — but there, now — there !■ 
Oh, life, I scarcely dare to wish for thee ; 
And yet — that jutting rock has hid him from me — 
No ! — let it not be Damon ! — he has a wife 
And child ! — gods ! — keep him back ! — [^Shouts. 

Damon. — [ Without.'] Where is he ! 

Damon rushes in, and. stands for a moment looking rouryd. 

Ha! 

He is alive ! untouched ! Ha ! ha ! ha I 



SCENE FROM DAMON AND PYTHIAS. 

[^Falls with an hysterical laugh upon the stage, — « 
Three loud shouts without. 

Pyth. — The gods do know I could have died lor him ! 
And yet I dared to doubt ! — I dared to breathe 
The half-uttered blasphemy ! \_Damon is raised up. 

He faints ! — How thick 

This wreath of burning moisture on his brow i 
His face is black with toil, his swelling bulk 
Heaves w4th swift pantings. Damon, my dear friend ! 

Damon. — Where am I ? Have I fallen from my horse, 
That I am stunned, and on my head I feel 
A weight of thickenhig blood! — What has befallen mel 
The horrible confusion of a dream 
Is yet upon my sight. — For mercy's sake, 
Stay me not back — he is about to die ! 
Pythias, my friend ! Unloose me, villains, or 
You'll find the might of madness in mine arm ! 
[^Sees Pythias.'] Speak to me, let me hear thy voice I 

Pyth. — My friend ! 

Damon. — It pierced my brain, and rushed into my 
heart ! 
There's lightning in it! — That's the scaffold — there 
The block — the axe — the executioner ! 
And here he lives ! — I have him in my soul I 
\_Emhraces Pythias.] Ha ! ha ! ha I 

Pyth. — Damon ! 

Damon. — Ha! ha! 

1 can but laugh ! — I cannot speak to thee I 
I can but play the maniac, and laugh ! 

Thy hand ! — Oli, let me grasp thy manly hand I — 

It is an honest one, and so is mine ! 

They are fit to clasp each other! Ha! ha! ha I 



SCENE PROM DAMOiSr AND PYTHIAS. 9 

Pyih. — Would that my death could have preserved 
thee! 

Damon — Pythias, 
Even in the very crisis to have come, — • 
To have hit the very forehead of old time ! 
By heavens ! had I arrived an hour before, 
I should not feel this agony of joy — 
This triumph over Dionysius ! 

Ha ! ha ! — But did'st thou doubt me ? Come, thou did'st— 
Own it, and I'll forgive thee. 

Pyth. — For a moment. 

Damon. — Oh, that false slave !— Pythias, he slew my 
horse. 
In the base thought to save me ! I would have killed 

him. 
And to a precipice was dragging him, 
"When, from the very brink of the abyss, 
I did behold a traveler afar. 
Bestriding a good steed — I rushed upon him, 
Choking with desperation, and yet loud 
In shrieking anguish, I commanded him 
Down from his saddle : he denied me — but 
Would I then be denied ? as hungry tigers 
Clutch their poor prey, I sprang upon his throat: 
Thus, thus, I had him, Pythias ! Come, your horse, 
Your horse, your horse, I cried. Ha ! ha ! ha ! 

Dion. — \_Advancing a^id speaking in a loud tone."] 
Damon ! 

Damon. — [Jumping on the scaffold.'] I am here upon 
the scaffold ! look at me : 
I am standing on my throne ; as proud a one 
As yon illumined mountain, where the sun 
Makes his last stand ; let him look on me too; 



iO SCENE PROM DAMON AND PYTHIAS. 

He never did behold a spectacle 

More full of natural glory. Death is — IShouts.'] Ha ! 
All Syracuse starts up upon her hills, 
And lifts her hundred thousand hands. \_Shouts.'] She 
shouts, [Sho'uis, 

Hark, how she shouts ! [Shouts.'] O Dionysius ! 
When wert thou in thy life hailed with a peal 
Of hearts and hands like that one ? Shout again ! 

[Shouts^ 
Again ! [Shouts'] until the mountains echo you, 
And the great sea joins in that mighty voice, 
And old Euceladus, the Son of Earth, 
Stirs in his mighty caverns. [Three shouts.] Tell me, 

slaves. 
Where is your tyrant? Let me see him now ; 
Why stands he hence aloof? Where is your master 1 
What is become of Dionysius? 
I would behold, and laugh at him ! 

[Dionysius advances between Damon and Pythias—^ 
Damon being on the scaffold — and throws off his 
disguise. 

Jbion. — Behold me. 

Damon and Pyth. — How? 

Dion. — Stay your admiration for awhile, 
Till I have spoken my commandment here. 
Go, Damocles, and bid a herald cry 
Wide through the city, from the eastern gate 
Unto the most remote extremity. 
That Dionysius, tyrant as he is. 
Gives back his life to Damon. [Exit Damocles, 

Pyth. — How, Dionysius? 
Speak that again ! 

Dion, — I pardon him. 



SPEECHES OF ZENOBIA AND HER COUNCIL. H 

Pyth.—O gods ! 
You give his life to Damon ? 
Dion. — Life and freedom ! 

\_Shouts, drums. — Damon staggers from the scaffold 
into the arms of Pythias. 

Curtain Falls. 

John BaniiiI. 



SPEECHES OF ZENOBIA AND HER COUNCIL 

IN REFERENCE TO THE ANTICIPATED 

WAR WITH ROME. 

Adapted. 



Characters. — Zenobia, Queen of Palmyra; Gracchus, a Roman and 
the Queen's chief adviser and head of the Senate ; Longinus, a Greek 
philosopher and a prominent member of the Senate ; Otho, a Palmyrean 
nobleman and a Senator; Zabdas, an Egj'ptian and General-in-chief of 
The Queen's army; also present, the Princess Julia ; Fausta, daughter of 
Gracchus, and Lucius Piso, a Roman nobleman ; two young and beau- 
tiful female slaves in attendance, one with cushion for foot-rest, the other 
with large fan of peacock feathers, seated at the feet of the Queen, to 
do her service. 

Scenery and costume will add greatly to the rendition of this scene, 
and if used, should be in adaptation to time, character, rank, and na- 
tionality. 

Disposition of Oiaracters.—Zenohia, seated upon her throne, surrounded 
by her friends, some sitting, others standing without order about her. 

Queen. — Good friends, I believe one thought fills 
every mind present hare. Is it not better that we give 
it utterance? I need the sympathy and the counsel of 
those who love me. But I ask not only for the opinions 
of those who agree with me, but as sincerely for those of 
such as may differ from me. You know me well in 
this, that I refuse not to hearken to reasons, the strongest 
that can be devised, although they oppose my own set- 
t'.cd judgment. Let us freely open our minds each to 
^he other, and let no one fear to offend me but by with- 
holding his full and free opinion. 



12 SPEECHES OF ZIOOtelA AND HER COUNCIL. 

Gracchus. — We, ^vlio know our Queen so well, hardly 
need these assurances. Were I as bitterly opposed to 
the measures proposed as I am decidedly in favor of 
them, I should none the less fearlessly and frankly de- 
clare the reasons of my dissent. I am sure that everj 
one here experiences the freedom you enjoin. But who 
will need to use it? For are we not of one mind ? I see, 
indeed, one or two who oppose the general sentiment. 
But for the rest, one spirit animates all, and, what is 
more, to the farthest limits of the kingdom am I per- 
suaded the same spirit spreads, and possesses and fills 
every soul. The attempt of Aurelian to control us in 
our afiairs, to dictate to us concerning the limits of our 
empire, so far removed, is felt to be a wanton freak of 
despotic power, which, if it be not withstood in its first 
encroachment, may proceed to other acts less tolerable 
still, and which may leave us scarcely our name as a dis- 
tinct people — and that covered with shame. Although 
a Boman by descent, I advocate not Boman intolerance. 
I can see and denounce injustice in Aurelian as well as in 
another. Falmyra is my country and Zenobia my 
Queen, and when I seek not their honor, may my own 
fall blasted and ruined. I stand ready to pledge for 
them in this emergency, what every other man of Bal- 
myra holds it his privilege to ofier, my property and my 
life, and if I have any possession dearer than these, I 
am ready to bi"ing and lay it upon the same altar. 

Longinus. — The gods weave the texture of our souls, 
not ourselves ; and the web is too intensely wove and 
drenched in too deep a dye for us to undo or greatly 
change. The eagle cannot be tamed down to the soft- 
ness of a dove, and no art of the husbandman can send 
to the gnarled and knotted oak the juices that shall 



SPEECHES OF ZENOBIA AND HEE COUNCIL. 13 

smooth and melt its stiffness into the yielding pliancy of 
the willow. I wage no war with the work of the gods. 
Besides, the demands of Rome have now grown to such 
a size that they swallow up our very existence as a free 
and sovereign State. They leave us but this single city 
and province out of an empire that now stretches from 
the Nile to the Bosphorus — an empire obtained by what 
cost of blood and treasure I need not say, any more 
than by what consummate skill in that art which boasts 
the loftiest minds of all ages. Palmyra not only owes 
a duty to herself in this matter, but to the whole East, 
and even to the world. For what part of the civilized 
world has not been trampled into dust by the despotism 
of almighty Rome ? It is needful to the well-being of 
nations that some power shall boldly stand forth and 
check an insolence that suffers no city nor kingdom to 
rest in peace. No single people ought to obtain univer- 
sal empire. A powerful nation is the more observant of 
the eternal principles of honor and justice for being 
watched by another, its equal. Individual character 
needs such supervision, and national as much. Palmyra 
is now an imposing object in the eye of the whole world. 
It is the second power. All I wish is, that for the sake 
of the world's peace it shall retain this position. I dep- 
recate conquest. However another may aspire to victory 
over Aurelian, to new additions from the Roman terri- 
tory, I have no such aspirations. On the other hand, 
I shall deplore any success beyond the maintenance of 
a just and honorable independence. This is our right 
by inheritance, and as much also by conquest, and for 
this I am ready, with the noble Gracchus, to offer to my 
sovereign my properties, my powers, and my life. If 
my poor life can prolong by a single year the reigu of 



14 SPEECHES OF ZENOBIA AND HER COUNCIL. 

one who, with virtues so eminent and a genius so vast» 
fills the throne of this fair kingdom, I would lay it at 
her feet with joy, and think it a service well done for 
our own and the world's happiness. 

Otho. — My opinions are well known, and it may be 
needless that I should again, and especially here, declare 
them, seeing that they will jar so rudely with those 
entertained by you, my friends around me.. But sure 1 
am, that no one has advocated the cause and the senti- 
ments which Zenobia cherishes so fondly with a truer, 
deeper affection for her, with a sincerer love of her 
glory, than I rise to oppose them with — ■ 

Queen {interrupting^. — We know it! we know it! 
Otho. 

Otho. — Thanks, noble Queen, for the fresh assurance 
of it. It is because I love, that 1 resist you. It is because 
I glory in your reign, in your renown, in your virtues, 
that I oppose an enterprise that I see with a prophet's 
vision will tarnish them all. Were I your enemy, I 
could not do better than to repeat the arguments that 
have just fallen from the lips of the head of our coun • 
oils, set off with every trick of eloquence that would 
send them with a yet more resistless power into the 
minds, not only of those who are assembled here, but of 
those, your subjects, wherever over these large domin- 
ions they are scattered. To press this war is to under- 
mine the foundations of the fairest kingdom the sun 
shines upon, and unseat the most beloved ruler that ever 
swayed a sceptre over the hearts of a devoted people. 
It can have no other issue. And this is not, O noble 
Queen ! to throw discredit upon former achievements, or 
to express a doubt of powers which have received the 
homage of the world; it is only with open eyes to 



SPEECHFS OF ZENOBTA ANP HEU COEXCIL. 15 

acknowledge what all but the blind must see and con- 
fess, the ovenvhelming superiority in power of every 
kind of the other party. We may gain a single victory 
— to that genius and courage are equal, and we possess 
them in more than even Koman measure — but that very 
victory may be our undoing, or but embitter the tem- 
per of the enemy, call forth a new display of unex- 
hausted and unexhaustible resources, while our very 
good success itself will have nearly annihilated our 
armies. And what can happen then but ruin, absolute 
and complete ? Roman magnanimity may spare our city 
and our name. But it is more likely that Roman ven- 
geance may blot them both out from the map of the 
world, and leave us nought but the fame of our Queen 
and the crumbling ruins of this once flourishing city by 
which to be remembered by posterity. These are not 
the counsels of fear — of a tame and cowaidly spirit. 
The generous Zabdas will do me justice — nay, you all 
will — why am I apprehensive ? Bear with me a moment 
more — 

Queen and others. — Say on, say on, noble Otho. 

Oilio. — The great Longinus has said that it is needful 
that there be one empire at least in the world to stand 
between Rome and universal dominion. I believe it. 
And that Palmyra may be, or continue to be, that king- 
dom, I counsel peace — I counsel delay — temporary con- 
cessions — negotiations — anything but war. A Roman 
Emperor lives not forever; and let us once ward off 
the jealousy of Aurelian, by yielding to some of his de- 
jnands, and resigning pretensions which are nothing in 
reality, but exist as names and shadows only, and long 
years of peace and prosperity may again arise, when our 
now infant kingdom may shoot up into the strong 



16 SPEECHES OF ZENOBIA AND HER COUNCIL. 

bone and muscle of a more vigorous manhood, and witlk 
reason assert rights which now it seems but madness, 
essential madness, to do. Listen, great Queen ! to the 
counsels of a time-worn soldier, whose whole soul is bound 
up in most true-hearted devotion to your greatness and 
glory. I quarrel not with your ambition or your love 
of warlike fame. I would only direct them to fields 
where they may pluck fresh laurels, and divert them 
from those where waits — ^pardon me, my royal mistress I 
— inevitable shame. 

Zabdas (^springing to his feet). — Were not the words 
which we have just heard the words of Otho, I would 
cry out. Treason ! treason ! But Otho — is Otho. What 
nation would ever, O Queen ! outgrow its infancy, were 
a policy like this now descanted upon to guide its coun- 
sels ? The general who risks nothing can win nothings 
And the nation that should wait till absolutely sure of 
victory before unsheathing the sword would never draw 
it, or only in some poor skirmish, where victory would 
be as disgraceful as defeat. Besides, although such a 
nation were to rise by such victories, if victories those 
may be called won by a thousand over an hundred, 
who would not blush to own himself a citizen of it? 
Greatness lies not in pounds weight of flesh, but in skill, 
courage, warlike genius, energy, and an indomitable 
will. A great heart will scatter a multitude. The love 
of freedom in a few brave spirits overthrows kingdoms. 
It was not, if I rightly remember, numbers by which 
the Persian hosts were beaten upon the plains of Greece. 
It was there something like three hundred to a million — 
the million weighed more than the three hundred, yet 
the three hundred were the heavier. The arm of one 
Spartan fell like a tempest upon the degenerate Per- 



SPEECHES OF ZENOBIA AND HER COUNCIL. 17 

sians, crushing its thousands at a single sweep. It was 
a great heart and a trusting spirit that made it weigh 
so against mere human flesh. Are we to wait till Pal- 
myra be as multitudinous as Kome ere we risk a battle ? 
Perhaps Kome will grow as fast as Palmyra — and how 
long must we then wait ? I care not though Aurelian 
bring half Europe at his back. There sits a throned spirit 
who will drive him back shattered and bleeding, the 
jest and ridicule of the observing world. She who, by 
the force of pure intellect, has out of this speck in the 
desert made a largo empire, who has humbled Persia, 
and entered her capital in triumph, has defeated three 
Roman armies, and wrested more provinces than time 
will allow me to number, from the firm grasp of the 
self-styled mistress of the world — this more than Semira- 
mis is to be daunted, forsooth, because a Roman soldier 
of fortune sends his hirelings here and asks of her th<3 
surrender of three-fourths of her kingdom; ishe is to 
kneel and cry him mercy, and humbly lay ac his royal 
feet the laurels won by so much precious blood and 
treasure! May the sands of the desert bu^y Palmyra 
and her Queen, sooner than one humiliating word shall 
pass those lips, or one act of concession blast a fame to 
this hour spotless as the snows of Ararat, and bright as 
the Persian god. Shame upon the man who, after the 
lessons of the past, wants faith in his sovereign. Great 
Queen, believe me, the nation is with you. Palmyra, as 
one man, will pour out treasure to the last aud least 
dust of gold, and blood to the last drop, that you may 
still sit secure upon that throne, and stretch your sceptre 
over a yet wider and undishonored empire. 

Otho. — Let not the Queen, let not the Queen doubt 
my faith — 



18 SPEECHES OF ZENOBIA AND HER COUNCIL. 

Queen. — I doubt it not, good Otho. Heed not the 
sharp words of the impetuous Zabdas; in his zeal for 
the art he only loves and for his Queen, he has thj'ust 
his lance hither and thither at all adventures, but as 
in the sports of the field, he means no injury. 

Otho. — Zabdas intends no wrong, I am well assured. I 
would only add a word to show upon what I ground my 
doubt of good success should Aureliau muster all his 
strength. It cannot be thought that I have lost my feith 
in the military geuius and prowess of either Zenobia or 
Zabdas, with both of whom, side by side, I have fought so 
many times, and by their conduct mounted up to victory. 
Neither do I doubt the courage of our native Palmy- 
renes, nor their devotion to the interests of their country. 
They will war to the death. But should a second army 
be to be raised, should the chosen troops of the city 
and its neighboring territories be once cut off, upon 
whom are we then to rely? Where are the auxiliaries 
whom we can trust ? What reliance can be placed upon 
Arabs, the Armenians, the Saracens, the Cappadocians, 
the Syrians ? Is our empire so old, and so well molded 
into one mass, so single in interest and affection, that 
these scattered tribes — formerly hostile to each other 
and to us, many, most of them at different times subject 
to Kome— may be depended upon as our own people ? 
Have we legions already drawn from their numbers, 
disciplined, and accustomed to our modes of warfare? 
Truly, this war with Rome seems to be approached much 
as if it were but some passing show of arms, some holiday 
pastime. But the gods grant that none of my forebod- 
inga turn true! 

Zenobia. — It was my wish, before the final decision of 
^he Senate and the Council, to receive from my friends, 



I 



SPEECHES OF ZENOBTA AND HER COUNCIL. 19 

iu social confidence, a full expression of their feelings, 
their opinions, their hopes, and their fears, concerning the 
present posture of our affairs. My Avish has been grati- 
fied, and I truly thank you all. It caunot be said that 
I blindly rushed upon danger and ruin, if these await 
us, or weakly blundered upon a wider renown, if that, 
as I doubt not, is to be the event of the impending con- 
test. I would neither gain nor lose but as the effect of 
a wise calculation and a careful choice of means. Be- 
lieve that now, as ever before, I discern with a clear 
eye the path which is to conduct us to a yet higher pitch 
of glory. I long ago anticipated the emergency that 
has arisen. I prepared then for the crisis which has 
come not till now. I am ready now. My armies are iii 
complete discipline, the city itself so fortified with every 
art and muniment of war as safely to defy any power 
that any nation may array before its walls. I am ad- 
vised to avert this evil by negotiation, by delay. Does 
any one believe that delay on our part will change the 
time-engendered character of Rome? If I cease to 
oppose, will Rome cease to be ambitious ? Believe it 
not. The storm that threatens might be so warded off. 
perhaps, for a day — a month — a year — a reign — but 
after that it would come, and in all reasonable calcula- 
tion, with tenfold fury. 

I am charged with pride and ambition. The charge 
is true, and I glory in its truth. Who ever achieved 
anything great in letters, arts, or arms who was not am- 
bitious? Caesar was not more ambitious than Cicero. 
It was but in another way. All greatness is born of 
ambition. Let the ambition be a noble one, and who 
shall blame it ? I confess I did once aspire to be Queen 
not only of Palmyra, but of the East. That I am. I 



20 SPEECHES OF ZENOBTA AND HER COUNCIL. 

now aspire to remain so. Is it not an honorable ambi- 
tion? Rome has the West. Let Palmyra possess the 
East. Not that nature prescribes this, and no more 
[rising in enihusiasmi] ; the gods prospering, and I s^year 
not that the Mediterranean shall hem me in upon the 
west,, or Persia on the east. Longinus is right : I would 
that the world were mine. I feel within the will and 
the power to bless it were it so. 

Are not my people happy ? I look upon the past and 
the present, upon my nearer and remoter subjects, and 
ask, nor fear the answer — Whom have I wronged ? What 
province have I oppressed? What city pillaged? What 
region drained with taxes? Whose life have I unjustly 
taken, or estates coveted or robbed ? Whose honor have 
I wantonly assailed? Whose rights, though of the 
weakest and poorest, have I trenched upon? I dwell, 
where I would ever dwell — in the hearts of my people. 
It is writ in your faces that I reign not more over you 
than within you. The foundation of my throne is not 
more power than love. Suppose now my ambition add 
another province to our realm? Is it an evil? The 
kingdoms already bound to us by the joint acts of our- 
self and the late royal Odenatus we found discordant 
and at war. They are now united and at peace. One 
harmonious whole has grown out of hostile and sundered 
parts. At my hands they receive a common justice and 
equal benefits. The channels of their commerce have 
I opened, and dug them deep and sure. Prosperity and 
plenty are in all their borders. The streets of our capi- 
tal bear testimony to the distant and various industry 
which here seeks its market. This is no vain boast- 
ing — receive it not so, good friends : it is but truth. 
He who traduces himself, sins with him who traduces 



CHPtlSTMAS-TIDE. 21 

another. He who is unjust to himself, or less than just, 
breaks a law as well as he who hurts his neighbor. I 
tell you what I am and what I have done, that your 
trust for the future may not rest upon ignorant grounds. 

If I am more than just to myself, rebuke me. If I 
have overstepped the modesty that became me, I am 
open to your censure and will bear it. But I have 
spoken that you may know your Queen — not only by 
her acts, but by her admitted principles. I tell you 
then that I am ambitious — that I crave dominion, and 
while I live will reign. Sprung from a line of kings, a 
throne is my natural seat. I love it. But I strive, too — 
you can bear me witne.^s that I do — that it shall be, 
while I sit upon it, an honored, unpolluted seat. If I 
can, I will hang a yet brighter glory around it. 

But see ! the Homan Ambassadors approach : let u.« 
forth and meet them in the council hall. Exeunt. 

Wm. Ware. 



CHRISTMAS-TIDE. 



Scene I. — Evening. 

A poora of poverty. Candle dimly burning. Bed on the floot 
Stockings hanging near. Child speaks to her mother. 

Child. 

I^HEY say to-night is Christmas Eve, and, high as I 
could reach, 
I 've hung my stockings on the wall, and left a kiss ou 

each. 
I left a kiss on each for Him who '11 fill my stockings 

quite ; 
He never came before, but oh, I 'm sure He will to-night. 



Anl to-morrow '11 be the day our blessed Clirist was born, 
Who '-'ame on earth to pity me, whom many others scorn. 



^2 CHRISTMAS-TIDE. 

And why it is they treat me so indeed I cau not tell, 
But while I love Him next to you, then ail seems wise 
and well. 



I long have looked for Christmas, mother, — waited all 

the year ; 
And very strange it is indeed to feel its dawn so near; 
But to-morrow '11 be the day I so have prayed to see. 
And I long to sleep and wake, and find what it will 

bring to- me. 

The snow is in the street, and through the window all 

the day 
T ' ve watched the little children pass : they seemed so 

glad and gay! 
And gayly did they talk about the gifts they would 

receive ; — 
Oh, all the wor/d is glad to-night, for this is Christmas 

Eve! 



And, mother, on the cold, cold floor I 've put my little 
shoe, — 

The other 's torn across the toe, and things might there 
slip through ; 

I 've set my little shoe, mother, and it for you shall be, 

For 1 know that He '11 remember you while He remem- 
bers me. 



So lay me in my bed, mother, and hear my prayers aright. 
He never came before, but oh, I 'm sure He will to-night 

\_Curtain drops.'\ 
Scene II. — Midnight. 

Mother knitting or mendins^. Cliild in night-dress sits erect in bed* 

Child. 
Mother, is it the morning yet? I dreamed that it was 
here ; 



CHRISTMAS-TIDE. 23 

I thought the sun shone through the pane, so blessed and 

so clear. 
1 dreamed my little stockings there were full as they 

could hold. 
But it 's hardly morning yet, mother, — it is so dark and 

cold. 

I dreamed the bells rang from the church where the 

happy people go, 
And they rang good-will to all men in a language that I 

know. 
I thought I took from off the wall my little stockings 

there, 
A.nd on the floor I emptied them, — such sights there 

never were ! 

A doll was in there, meant for me, just like those little 

girls 
Who always turn away from me ; and oh, it had such 

curls ! 
I kissed it on its painted cheek ; my own are not so sweet. 
Though people used to stop to pat and praise them in 

the street. 

And, mother, there were many things that would have 

pleased you, too ; 
For He who had remembered me had not forgotten you. 
But I only dreamed 't was morning, and yet 't is far away, 
Though well I know that He will come before the earlj 

day. 

Bo I will put my dream aside, though I know ray dream 

was true, 
And sleep, and dream my dream again, and rise at mom 

with you. 

^Curtain drops.'] 

Scene III. — Christmas Morn, 

Mother sitting at table, head resting on her hand. 
Ifother. 

All night have I waked with weeping till the bells are 

ringing wild, 



24 CHRISTMAS-TIDE. 

All night have I waked with my sorrow, and lain in my 

tears, like a child. 
For over against the waU, as empty as they can be, 
The limp little stockings hang, and my heart is breaking 

in me! 

Your vision was false as the world, oh, darling dreamer 

and dear ! 
And how can I bear you to wake, and find no Christmas 

here? 
Better you and I were asleep in the slumber whence none 

may start. 
And oh, those empty stockings ! I could fill them out 

of my heart ! 

No Christmas for you or for me, darling; your kisses 

were all in vain ; 
I have given your kisses back to you over and over again j 
I have folded you to my breast with a moaning no one 

hears : 
Your heart is happy in dreams, though your hair is damp 

with my tears. 

I am out of heart and hope ; I am almost out of my mind ; 
The world is cruel and cold, and only Christ is kind ; 
And much must be borne and forborne; but the heaviest 

burden of all 
That ever hath lain on my life are those little light things 

on the wall. 

The bells have ceased their ringing, and — footsteps ap 
proach my door ! 
(J)oor opens, and a basket of food, a bundle of cluthirig, 
and toys for the little girl brought in.) 

Dear Lord, thou hast not forgotten, for some one remenh 
bers the poor. 
( The gifts are displayed. The daughter appears.) 
For me and mine these treasures ! Have my eyes mis* 
taken the light ? 



AUNT BETSF.Y AND LITTLE DAVY. 25 

The sun will now shine warmer, and the fire buru 
brighter to-night. 

Adapted from A. W. Bellaw by J. W. Shoemakeb. 



AUKT BETSEY AND LITTLE DAVY. 

From Dickens' David Copperfield. 



CHARACTERS. 

Aunt Betsey.— A lady of sixty, with gray hair, rather liandsome 
features, quick, bright eye, slender, straight, active, and pecu- 
liar — dress of black or lavender, with plain, narrow, untrimmed 
skirt, low shoes, turn-down linen collar and cuffs, short, plain 
apron, white cap with high front frill, over which is tied a large 
silk handkerchief; pair of gardening gloves and gardening 
knife in hand. 

David.— Slender, timid child of nine or ten years; in first scene, 
with face, hands, and neck sun browned, shirt, trowsers, and hat 
and shoes soiled and torn, features and clothing covered with 
chalk-like dust. 

Mr. Dick. — A fleshy, florid, smiling, gray -haired man of forty, with 
high standing collar and stiff, wide cravat, loose gray coat and 
waistcoat, white trousers ; somewhat stooped at the neck, one 
eye frequently closed, watch in fob, money loose in pocket, and 
for Vt^hich he shows his fondness by frequent jingling. 

Janet.— Plump, healthy, good-natured servant girl, clad in neat, 

' figured muslin dress. 

Mr. Murdstone.— In suit of black, high silk hat, black hair and 
heavy black whiskers, lowering black eye-brows, thin lips, 
pressed close together ; deep, hard voice. 

Miss Murdstone.— Much resembling her brother in features and 
voice, clad in plain, black riding dress, close bonnet, with veil 
thrown back ; she carries a parasol and a bag with a heavy chain 
and clasp. 

Scene I. 
Room in Aunt Betsey's house, tastefully furnished ivith 

sofa, table, chairs, screen, etc. 
Curtain rises. — Aunt Betsey discovered at an open door, 

and Davy in his woe-hegone condition standing timidly 

before her. 

Aunt B. {shaking her head and making a chop in the 




26 



AUNT BETSEY AND LITTLE DAVY. 



air ivith her knife). — Go away! Go along, I say! No 
boys here ! 

David (timidly looking up and touching her hand with 
his finger). — If you please, ma'am. [^Aunt B. stoMs^ 
If you please, aunt. 

Aunt B. (amazedly). — Eh ? 

David. — If you please, aunt, I am your nephew ! 

Aunt B. {sitting flat down in doorway). — Mercy on 
us ! Mercy on us 1 

David. — I am David Copperfield, of Blunderstone, in 
Suffolk, where you came after my papa died, on the 
night when I was born, and saw my dear mamma. Two 
or three years before mamma died she was married to a 
Mr. Murdstone — he had a sister who lived with us — 
they were both very cruel to me. I have been very 
unhappy since dear mamma died. I have been slighted, 
and taught nothing, and thrown upon myself, and put 
to work not fit for me. It made me run away to you. 
{Breahing into so6s.] I was robbed at first setting out, 
and have walked all the way, and have never slept in a 
bed since I began the journey. 

Aunt B. (rises, seizes David by the collar, brings him 
into the room, unlocks a cabinet, takes out large bottles and 
administers three or four different kinds of medicines as 
restoratives, exclaiming at intervals). — Mercy on us! 
Mercy on us! [She then places David upon the sofa, 
puts a shawl under his head, takes off handkerchief from 
her own head and places it under his feet to prevent him 
from soiling the cover, then rings bell. Enter servant^ 

Aunt B. — Janet, go up-stairs, give my compliments 
to my friend, Mr. Dick, and say I wish to speak to 
him. 
[Exit Janet, looking with surprised air at child on sofa.'\ 



AUNT BETSEY AND LITTLE DAVY. 27 

Aunt B. (seating herself behind screen). — Mercy on 
as ! Mercy on us ! Mercy on us ! 

\_Enter Mr. Dick, smiling.^ 

Aunt B. — Mr. Dick, don't be a fool, because nobody 
can be more discreet than you can, when you choose. 
We all know that. So don't be a fool, whatever you 
are. You have heard me mention David Copperfield ? 
Now, don't pretend not to have a memory, because you 
and I know better. 

Mr. Dick — David Copperfield ? David Copperfield ? 
Oh, yes, to be sure. David, certainly. 

Aunt B. — Well, this is his boy, his son. He would be 
as like his father as it's possible to be, if he was not so 
like his mother, too. 

Mr. Dick (smiling). — His son ? David's son ? In- 
deed ! 

Aunt B. — Yes, and he has done a pretty piece of 
business. He has run away. Ah ! His sister, Betsey 
Trotwood, if there had been a sister, never would have 
run away. 

Mr. Dick. — Oh! you think she wouldn't have run 
away? 

Aunt B. — Bless and save the man! how he talks! 
Don't I know she wouldn't ? She would have lived 
with her godmother, and we should have been devoted 
to one another. Where, in the name of wonder, should 
his sister, Betsey Trotwood, have run from, or to ? 

Mr. Dick. — Nowhere. 

Aunt B. — Well, then, how can you pretend to be 
wool-gathering, Dick, when you are as sharp as a sur- 
geon's lancet? Now, here you see young David Cop- 
perfield, and the question I put to you is, what shall I 
do with him ? 



28 AUNT BETSEY AND LITTLE DAVY. 

Mr. Dick (scratching his head feebly). — What shall you 
do with him ? Oh ! do with him ? 

Aunt B. (holding up her forefinger). — Yes. Come ! I 
want some very sound advice. 

Mr. Dick. — Why, if I was you, I should — I should 
wash him ! 

Aunt B. — Janet, Mr. Dick sets us all right. Heat 
the bath ! 

\_Exit Janet^ 

Aunt B. (looking out of door or windoiv, calling ex^ 
citedly). — Janet! Janet! Donkeys! Drive them off! 
They sha'n't trespass on my green ! Now, Mr. Dick, 
whatever do you suppose possessed that poor unfortunate 
Baby, that she must go and be married again ? 

Mr. Dick. — Perhaps she fell in love with her second 
husband. 

Aunt B. — Fell in love ! What do you mean ? What 
business had she to do it ? 

3Ir. Dick (simpering). — Perhaps she did it for pleas^ 
ure. 

Aunt B. — Pleasure, indeed! A mighty pleasure for 
the poor Baby to fix her simple faith upon any dog of a 
fellow, certain to ill-use her in some way or other. What 
did she propose to herself, I should like to know ! She 
had had one husband. She had seen David Copperfield 
out of the world, who was always running after wax 
dolls from his cradle. And then, as if this was not 
enough, she marries a second time — goes and marries a 
murderer — or a man with a name like it — and stands in 
this child's light ! And the natural consequence is, as 
anybody but a baby might have foreseen, that he prowls 
and wanders. He's as like Cain before he was grown 
up as he can be. [ Calling.'] Janet ! Donkeys — donkeys 1 



AUNT BETSEY AND LITTLE DAVY. 29 

Now, Mr. Dick [^forefinger up], 1 am going to ask you 
another question. Look at this child. 

Mr. Dick. — David's son ? 

Aunt B. — Exactly so. What would you do with him ? 

Mr. Diek. — Do with David's son? 

Aunt B. — Ah, with David's son. 

Mr. Dick. — Oh ! Yes. Do Avith — -I should — I should, 
after the bath, give him his supper and put him to bed. 
[Re-enter Janet,] 

Aunt B. — Janet, Mr. Dick sets us all right. Arrange 
the bed in the room overlooking the sea. Prepare the 
supper and I will see that the child has a bath. 
[Curtain.] 

Scene II. 
Aunt Betsey seated at breakfast table profoundly meditat- 
ing. David, very cleanly washed and nicely combed, 
fitted out in some of Mr. Dick's clothes, ivhich are far 

too large for him, with a shawl tied round his shoulders, 

is also seated at table and bashfully endeavoring to eat 

his breakfast. 

Aunt B. — Hallo ! \_David looks up respectfully.] I 
have written to him. 

David.— To '^ 

Aunt B. — To your father-in-iaw. I have sent him a 
letter that I'll trouble him to attend to, or he and I will 
fall out, I can tell him ! 

David. — Does he know where I am, aunt ? 

Aunt B.—l have told him, and I expect him here 
shortly. 

David. — Oh ! I can't think what I shall do if I have 
to go back to Mr. Murdstone ! 

Aunt B. — I don't know anything about it. I can'i 



30 AUNT BETSEY AND LITTLE DAVY. 

say, I am sure. We shall see. I wish you would go 

up-staii-s and gi/e my compliments to Mr. Dick, and 

I'll be glad to know how he gets on with his Memorial. ' 

\_Exit David.'] 

(Aunt Betsey rings bell, rises, goes to work-basket, seats 
lierselj, threads needle, and begins to sew. Janet enters, 
carries away dishes, and arranges room.) 

Aunt B. (soliloquizing^. — How I wish that Murderer, 
or Murdstone, or whatever you call him, would make 
his appearance just now. I am in a mood to say 
some things he won't like. The statements I have, from 
time to time, drawn from the child go to prove that he 
has been more shamefully treated than I at first was led 
to believe. [Re-enter David.] Well, child, and what 
of Mr. Dick, this morning ? 

David. — He sends his compliments, and says he is 
getting on very well indeed. 

Aunt B. — And what do you think of Mr. Dick, 
[David hesitating ?[ Come ! Your sister, *Betsey Trot^ 
wood — if there had been a Betsey Trotwood — ^^vould 
have told me what she thought of any one directly. Be 
as like your sister would have been as you can, and 
speak out ! 

David. — Is he — is Mr. Dick— I ask because I don't 
know, aunt — is he at all out of his mind, then ? 

Aunt B. — Not a morsel. 

David.— 0\\ ! ( Timidly:) 

Aunt B. — If there is anything in the world that Mr. 
Dick is not, it's that. 

David.— Oh ! 

Aunt B. — He has been called mad. I have a selfish 
pleasure in saying he has been called mad, or I should 
not have had the benefit of his society and adyice for 



AUNT BETSEY AND LITTLE DAVY. 31 

these last ten years and upward — in fact, ever since 
your sister, Betsey Trotwood, disappointed me. 

David. — So long as that ? 

Aunt B. — ^And nice people they were, who had the 
audacity to call him mad. Mr. Dick is a sort of distant 
connection of mine ; it doesn't matter how ; I needn't 
enter into that. If it hadn't been for me, his own 
brother would have shut him up for life. That's all. 
Janet ! Donkeys ! donkeys ! [Springing to her feet and 
rushing to the door^ Go along with you. [Shaking her 
fisf] How dare you trespass? Go along! Oh, you 
bold-faced thing ! 

David. — That is Miss Murdstone, aunt. 

Aunt B. — I don't care who it is. I won't be trespassed 
upon. I won't allow it. Go away ! Janet, turn him 
round. Lead him off! 

David. — Shall I go away, aunt ? 

Aunt B. — No, sir. Certainly not. (Pushing David 
into a corner near her and fencing him in with a chair.^ 
[Enter Mr. and Miss Murdstone.^ 

Aunt B. — Oh ! I was not aware at first to whom I had 
the pleasure of objecting. But I don't allow anybody 
to ride over that turf. I make no exceptions. I don't 
allow anybody to do it. 

Miss M. — Your regulation is rather awkward to 
strangers. 

Aunt B.—ls it ? 

Mr. M. — Miss Trotwood ! 

Aunt B. — I beg your pardon. You are the Mr. 
Murdstone who married the widow of my late nephew, 
David Copperfield, of Blunderstone Kookery ? 

3Ir. M.—l am. 

Aunt B. — ^You'll excuse my saying, sir, that I think 



AUNT BETSEY AND LITTLE DAVY. 



it would have been a mucli better and happier thing if 
you had left that poor child alone. 

Miss M. — I so far agree with what Miss Trotwood has 
remarked, that I consider our lamented Clara to have 
been, in all essential respects, a mere child. 

Aunt B. — It is a comfort to you and me, ma'am, who 
are getting on in life, and are not likely to be made un- 
happy by our personal attractions, that nobody can say 
the same of us. 

Miss M. — No doubt ! And it certainly might have 
been, as you say, a better and happier thing for my 
brother if he had never entered into such a marriage. 
I have always been of that opinion. 

Aunt B. — I have no doubt you have. [Enter Mr. 
Dick, who stands by table, jingles money, and looks rather 
foolish.'] This is Mr. Dick, an old and intimate friend, 
on whose judgment I frequently rely. (Mr. and Miss 
Murdstone bow stiffly without rising.) 

Mr. M. — Miss Trotwood, on the receipt of your letter, 
I considered it an act of great justice to myself, and 
perhaps of more respect to you — 

Aunt B. — Thank you. You needn't mind me. 

Mr. M. — To answer it in person, however inconvenient 
the journey, rather than by letter. This unhappy boy, 
who has run away from his friends and his occupation — - 

Miss M. {interrupting'). — And whose appearance [^poinU 
t?i^^ow;arc^2)at;i(i] is perfectly scandalous and disgraceful. 

Mr. M. — Jane Murdstone, have the goodness not to in- 
terrupt me. This unhappy boy, Miss Trotwood, has 
been the occasion of much domestic trouble and uneasi- 
ness, both during the lifetime of my late dear wife and 
since. He has a sullen, rebellious spirit, a violent 
temper, and an untoward, intractable disposition. Both 



AUNT BETSEY AND LITTLE PAVY. 33 

my sister and myself have endeavored to correct his 
vices, but ineffectually. And I have felt — we both have 
felt, I may say, my sister being fiilly in my confidence — 
that it is right you should receive this grave and dis- 
passionate assurance from our lips. 

3Ilss M. — It can hardly be necessary for me to con- 
firm anything stated by my brother, but I beg to observe, 
that of all the boys in the world, I believe this is the 
worst boy. 

Aunt B. {shortly). — Strong. 

Miss M. — But not at all too strong for the facts. 

AuntB.—¥L2i\ Well, sir? 

Mr. M. — I have my own opinions, and more, as to the 
best mode of bringing him up ; they are founded, in part, 
on my knowledge of him, and in part on my knowledge 
of my own means and resources. I am responsible for 
them to myself, I act upon them, and I say no more 
about them. It is enough that I place this boy under 
the eye of a friend of my own, in a respectable business ; 
that it does not please him ; that he runs away from it ; 
makes himself a common vagabond about t,he country ; 
and comes here in rags to appeal to you. Miss Trot wood. 
I wish to set before you, honorably, the exact con- 
sequences — so far as they are within my knowledge — of 
your abetting him in this appeal. 

Aunt B. — But about the respectable business first. 
If he had been your own boy, you would have put him 
to it just the same, I suppose? 

Miss M. — If he had been my brother's own boy his 
character, I trust, would have been altogether different. 

Aunt B. — Or if the poor child, his mother, had been 
alive, he would still have gone into the respectable busi' 
Qess, would he ? 



34 AUNT BETSEY AND LITTLE DAVY. 

Mr. M. — I believe that Clara would liave disputed 
nothing which myself and my sister, Jane Murdstone, 
were agreed was for the best. 

\_Miss M. murmuring audibly.^ 

Aunt B. — Humph ! Unfortunate baby ! The poor 
child's annuity died with her ? 

Mr. M. — Died with her. 

Aunt B. — And there was no settlement of the little 
property — the house and garden — ^the w^hat's-its-name 
Rookery without any rooks in it — upon her boy? 

Mr. M. — It had been left to her unconditionally by 
her first husband. 

Aunt B. — Of cou^'se it was left to her uncondition- 
ally. But when she married a,gain — when she took that 
most disastrous step of marrying you, in short, to be 
plain — did no one put in a word for the boy at that 
time? 

Mr. M. — My late wife loved her second husband, 
madam, and trusted implicitly in him. 

Aunt B. — Your late wife, sir, was a most unworldly, 
most unhappy, most unfortunate baby. (Shaking her head 
at him.} That's what she was. And now, what have 
you got to say next ? 

Mr. M. — Merely this, Miss Trotwood. I am here to 
take David back ; to take him back unconditionally, to 
dispose of him as I think proper, and to deal with him 
as I think right. I am not here to make any promise, 
or give any pledge to anybody. If you step in between 
him and me now, you must step in, Miss Trotwood, for^ 
ever. I cannot trifle, or be trifled with. I am here, 
for the first and last time, to take him away. Is he 
ready to go ? If he is not — and you tell me he is not ; 
on any pretense; it is indifferent to me what — my 



AUNT BETSEY AND LITTLE DAVY. 35 

doors are shut against him henceforth, and yours, I take 
it for granted, are open to him. 

Aunt B. — Well, ma'am, have you got anything to 
remark ? 

Miss M. — Indeed, Miss Trotwood, all that I could say 
has been so well said by my brother, and all that I 
know to be the fact has been so plainly stated by him, 
that I have nothing to add except my thanks for your 
politeness [sarGasUcally~\ — for your very great politeness, 
I am sure. 

Aunt B. — And what does the boy say? Are you 
ready to go, David ? 

David (piteously). — Please, aunt, don't let them take 
me. They have never been kind to me ; they made 
mamma, who always loved me dearly, very unhappy 
about me, and they made my life so miserable. Please, 
aunt, keep me and befriend me for my papa's sake. 

Aunt B. — Mr. Dick, what shall I do with this child? 

Mr. Dick (hesitating and brightening^. — Have him 
measured for a suit of clothes directly. 

Aunt B. — Mr. Dick, give me your hand [shaking Mr. 
Dick's hand cordially and drawing David to her'], for 
your common sense is invaluable. [ To Mr. Murdstone.'] 
You can go when you like; I'll take my chance with 
the boy. If he's all you say he is, at least I can do as 
much for him then as you have done. But I don't be- 
lieve a word of it. 

Mr. M. (rising'). — Miss Trotwood, if you were a gen- 
tleman — 

Aunt B. — Stuff and nonsense ! Don't talk to me ! 

Miss M. (rising). — How exquisitely polite! Over 
powering, really ! 

Aunt B. (rising).— Do you think I don't know whsit 



36 AUNT BETSEY AND LITTLE DAVY. 

kind of life you must have led that poor, unhappy, niis' 
directed baby? Do you think I don't know what a 
woefiil day it was for the soft little creature when you 
first came in her way — smirking and making great eyes 
at her, I'll be bound, as if you couldn't say boh ! to a 



li 



Miss M. — I never heard anything so elegant ! 

Aunt B. — Do you think I can't understand you as 
well as if I had seen you, now that I do see and hear 
you — which I tell you, candidly, is anything but a 
pleasure to me ? Oh, yes, bless us ! who so smooth and 
silky as Mr. Murdstone at first! The poor benighted 
innocent had never seen such a man. He was made of 
sweetness. He worshiped her ! He doted on her boy — 
tenderly dcted on him! He was to be another father 
to him, and they were all to live together in a garden ot 
roses, weren't they ? 

Miss M. — I never heard anything like this person in 
my life. 

Aunt B. — And when you had made sure of the poor 
little fool, God forgive me that I should call her so, and 
she gone where you won't go in a hurry — because you 
had not done wrong enough to her and hers, you must 
begin to train her, must you ? Begin to break her, like 
a poor caged bird, and wear her deluded life away in 
teaching her to sing your notes ? 

Miss M. — This is either insanity or intoxication, and 
my suspicion is that it's intoxication. 

Aunt B. {jiot heeding interruption^. — Mr. Murdstone, 
you were a tyrant to the simple baby, and 3'^ou broke 
her heart. She was a loving baby — I know that; I 
knew it years before you ever saw her — and through the 
best part of her weakness you gave her the wounds she 



AUNT BETSEY AND LITTLE DAVY. 37 

died of. There is the truth for your comfort, howeve/ 
you like it. And you and your instruments may make 
the most of it. 

Miss M. — Allow me to inquire, Miss Trotwood, whom 
you are pleased to call, in a choice of words in which I 
am not experienced, my brother's instruments ? 

Aunt B. {unheeding ' Miss M.). — It was clear enough, 
as I have told you, years before you ever saw her — and 
why in the mysterious dispensations of Providence you 
ever did see her, is more than humanity can compre- 
hend — it was clear enough that the poor, soft little thing 
would marry somebody, at sometime or other ; but I did 
hope it wouldn't have been as bad as it has turned out. 
That was the time, Mr. Murdstone, when she gave ^/irth 
to her boy here, to the poor child you sometime./? tor- 
mented her through afterward, which is a disagreeable 
remembrance, and makes the sight of him odious now. 
Aye ! aye ! you needn't wince ! I know it's true ^vithout 
that. And now, good-day, and good-bye! Good-day 
to you, too, ma'am. Let me see you ride a donkey over 
my green again, and as sure as you have a head upon your 
shoulders I'll knock your bonnet off and tread upon it. 

[Miss M. places her arm through her brother'^ and they 
walk haughtily out of the door.~\ 

David. — Oh, aunt, I thank you very, very much, and 
I shall try hard to be a good boy and give you no 
trouble. [^Places his arms around his aunts neck and 
kisses her. Mr. Dick laughs heartily, jingles his money, 
and shakes hands with David.'] 

Aunt B. — You'll consider yourself guaidian, jointly 
with me, of this child, Mr. Dick ? 

Mr. Dich.—l shall be delighted to be tke guardian of 
David's son. 



38 THE MURDER OF TPIOMAS A BECICET, 

Aunt B. — Very good, that's settled. I have beea 
thinking, do you know, Mr. Dick, that I might call him 
Trotwood? 

Mr. Dick. — Certainly, certainly. Call him Trotwood, 
certainly. David's son's Trotwood. 

Aunt B. — Trotwood Copperfield, you mean. 

Mr. Dick. — Yes, to be sure. Yes. Trotwood Copper- 
field. 

Aunt B. — And the suit of new clothes which I shall 
purchase this afternoon shall be marked in indelible 
ink — and in my own handwriting — Trotwood Copper- 
field. Moreover, I shall put the boy to school and give 
him an education. Henceforth, Trotwood (^kindly and 
proudly), you are to be my boy, and no murdering 
Murdstones will have a chance to practice on you again 
while Aunt Betsey Trotwood holds a place in this world. 
[Curtain.] 
Dramatized by Mrs. J. W. Shoemaker. 



I 



THE MUKDEE OF THOMAS a BECKET. 

Adapted from Tennyson's Tragedy— Becket. 
EFFECTIVE EITHER AS A READING OR A DIALOGUE. 



Thomas a Becket, Archbishop of Canterbury, was a man of 
great talent and fearless courage, but he unwisely set himself 
against all propositions of the King tending to regulate, or make 
ecclesiastical authority subservient to civil power. So determined 
was he in his opposition, that finally Henry, though one of the 
Archbishop's firmest friends, in a fit of impatience, was led to ex- 
claim : " Is there no one of my subjects who will rid me of this in- 
solent priest?'' Four knights, enemies of S. Becket, construing 
this as a command, proceeded to the residence of the prelate, and 
pursuing him into the Cathedral, barbarously slew him before the 
altar A. D. 1170. 



THE MURDER OF THOMAS 1 BECKET. 39 

DRAMATIS PERSONJE. 

Thomas X Becket, Archbishop of Canterbury. 

Gbim, a monk of Cambridge, | p^iends of a Becket. 

John of Salisbury, J 

Sir Reginald Fitzuese, ~1 

Sir Richard De Brito, I The four knights of the King's house^ 

Sir WiiiMAM De Tracy, j hold and enemies of a Becket. 

Sir Hugh De MoRViiiiiB, J 

Monks. 

For costumes, consult history and historic scenes of the time of 
Henry II. 

Scene. 
Altar and chancel of a Cathedral. A concealed chorus of 
voices indicative of monks chanting the service. En- 
trance right and left. 

Becket (entering, forced along by John of Salisbury and 
Grim). — No, I tell you ! 

I cannot bear a hand upon my person, 

Why do you force me thus against my will ? 
Grim. — 

My lord, we force you from your enemies. 
Becket. — 

As you would force a king from being crown'd. 
John of Salisbury. — 

We must not force the crown of martyrdom. 

[Service stops. Enter Monks. 
Monks. — 

Here is the great Archbishop ! He lives ! he lives ' 

Die with him, and be glorified together. 
Becket. — 

Together ? . . . get you back ! go on with the office. 
Monks. — 

Come, then, with us to vespers. 
Becket. — How can I come 

When you so block the entry ? Back, I say ! 



THE MURDER OF THOMAS 1 BE( 



Go on with the office. Shall not Heaven be served 
Tho' earth's last earthquake clash'd the minstei- 

bells, 
And the great deeps were broken up again, 
And hiss'd against the sun ? \_Noise in the cloisters. 
Monks. — The murderers, hark ! 

Let us hide ! let us hide ! 
Becket. — What do these people fear ? 

Monks. — 

Those arm'd men in the cloister. 
Becket. — Be not such cravens ! 

I will go out and meet them. 
Orim and others. — 
Fly, fly, my lord, before they burst the doors ! 

[Knocking, 
Becket. — 

Why, these are our own monks who follow'd us ! 
Undo the doors : the church is not a castle : 
Knock, and it shall be open'd. Are you deaf? 
What, have I lost authority among you ? 
Stand by, make way ! 

\_Opens the doors. Enter Monks, 
Come in, my friends, come in ! 
Hay, faster, faster ! 
Monks. — Oh, my lord Archbishop, 

A score of Knights all arm'd with swords and 

axes — 
To the choir, to the choir ! 

\Monks divide part to the right, part to the left. 
The rush of these last hears Becket along 
with them some distance, where he is left 
standing alone. 
Becket. — Shall I too pass to the choir, 



TSE murder of THOMAS A BECKET. 41 

And die upon the Patriarchal throne 

Of all my predecessors ? 
Johi of Salisbury. — No, to the crypt ! 

Twenty steps down. Stumble not in the darkness, 

Lest they should seize thee. 
Grim. — To the crypt ? no — no, 

To the chapel of St. Blaise beneath the roofi 
John of Salisbury (^pointing upward and downward^).-'- 

That way, or this ! Save thyself either way. 
Becket. — 

Oh, no, not either way, nor any way 

Save by that way which leads thro' night to light. 

Not twenty steps, but one. 

And fear not I should stumble in the darkness. 

Not tho' it be their hour, the power of darkness. 

But my hour too, the power of light in darkness ! 

I am not in the darkness but the light. 

Seen by the Church in Heaven, the Church on 
earth — 

The power of life in death to make her free ! 

[Enter the four knights. 
Fitzurse. — 

Here, here. King's men ! 

[Catches hold of the last flying Monk 
Where is the traitor Becket ? 
Monk. — 

I am not he, I am not he, my lord. 

T am not he indeed ! 
Fitzurse. — Hence to the fiend ! 

[Pushes him aivay. 

Where is this treble traitor to the King ? 
De Traey. — 

Where is the Archbishop, Thomas Becket ? 



42 THE MUKDER OF THOMAS A BECKET. 

Beclcet. — Here. 

No traitor to the King, but Priest of God, 

Primate of England. [^Descending into the transept 
I am he ye seek. 

What would ye have of me ? 
Fitzurse. — Your life. 

De Tracy. — Your life. 

De Morville. — 

Save that you will absolve the bishops. 
Bechet. — Never, — 

Except they make submission to the Church. 

You had my answer to that cry before. 
De Morville. — 

Why, then you are a dead man ; flee ! 
Bechet. — I will not. 

I am readier to be slain, than thou to slay. 

Hugh, I know well thou hast but half a heart 

To bathe this sacred pavement with my blood. 

God pardon thee and these, but God's full curse 

Shatter you all to pieces if ye harm 

One of my flock ! 
Fitzurse. — Was not the great gate shut ? 

They are thronging in to ves23ers — half the town. 

We shall be overwhelm'd. Seize him and carry 
him! 

Come with us — nay — thou art our prisoner — come I 
De Morville. — 

Ay, make him prisoner, do not harm the man. 

[Fitzurse lays hold of the Archbishop's pall, 

Bechet. — 

Touch me not ! 
De Brito. — How the good priest gods himself! 



THE MURDER OF THOMAS A BECKET. 48 

Fitzurse. — 

I will not only touch, but drag thee hence. 
Becket— 

Thou art my man, thou art my vassal. Away 1 

\_Flings him off till he reels, almost to falling. 
De Tracy (lays hold of the pall). — 

Come ; as he said, thou art our prisoner. 
Becket. — • Down ! 

[^Throws him headlong. 
Fitzurse (advances ivith drawn sword). — 

I told thee that I should remember thee ! 
Becket. — 

Profligate pander ! 
Fitzurse. — Do you hear that ! strike ! strike ! 

\_Strikes off the Archbishop's mitre, and wounds 
him in the forehead. 
Becket (covers his eyes luith his hand). — 

I do commend my cause to God, the Virgin, 

St. Denis of France and St. Alphege of England, 

And all the tutelar Saints of Canterbury. 

[^Orim ivraps his arms about the Archbishop. 
Spare this defense, dear brother. 

{_TraGy has arisen, and apj^roaches, hesitatingly^ 
with his sword raised. 
Fitzurse. — Strike him, Tracy ! 

Strike, I say. 
Grim. — 
O God, O noble knights, O sacrilege ! 
Strike our Archbishop in his own cathedral ! 
The Pope, the King will curse you — the whole 

world 
Abhor you ; ye will die the death of dogs f 
Nay, nay, good Tracy. ILifts his arm. 



44 THE MUKDIJR OF THOMAS 1 BECItET. 

Fitzurse. — Answer not, but strike. 

De Tracy,— 

There is my answer then. 

[Sword falls on Griins arm, and glances from it, 
wounding Becket. 
Grim. — Mine arm is sever'd. 

I can no more — fight out the good fight — die 
Conqueror. \_Staggers and falls. 

Becket (falling on his knees). — 

At the right hand of Power — 
Power and great glory — for thy Church, O Lord — 

[Sinks prone. 
De Brito. — 

This last to rid thee of a world of brawls ! (Kills 

him.) 
The traitor's dead, and v/ill arise no more. 
Fitzurse. — 

Nay, have we still'd him ? What ! the great Arch- 
bishop ! 
Does he breathe ? No ? 
De Tracy. — No, Reginald, he is dead. 

(Storm bursts.)^ 
De Morville. — 

Will the'earth gape and swallow us ? 
De Brito. — The deed's done — 

Away ! Away ! 

[De Brito, De Tracy, Fitzurse, rush out, crying 
"King's men /" De Morville follows slowly. 
Flashes of lightning and sounds of thunder. 

* A tremendous thunderstorm actually broke over the Cathe* 
dral as the murderers were leaving it. 



SCENE FROM THE LADY OF LYONS. 45 

SCENE FROM THE LADY OF LYONS. 



r Claude Melnotte, 
Characters. < Widow Melnotte, 
( Pauline. 

Widow — So, I think that looks very neat. He sent 
me a line, so blotted that I can scarcely read it, to say 
he would be here almost immediately. She must 
have loved him well, indeed, to have forgotten his birth ; 
for though he was introduced to her in disguise, he is 
too honorable not to have revealed to her the artifice ; 
which her love only could forgive. Well, I do not wonder 
at it ; for though my son is not a prince, he ought to be 
one, and that's almost as good. (Knock at the door in 
F.) Ah ! here they are. 

Enter Melnotte and Pauline. 

Widow — Oh, my boy ; the pride of my heart ! wel- 
come, welcome! I beg pardon, ma'am, but I do love 
him so ! 

Paidine — Good woman, I really — why. Prince, what 
is this ? Does the old lady know you ? Oh, I guess, you 
have done her some service. Another proof of your 
kind heart, is it not ? 

Mel — Of my kind heart, ay ! 

Paidine — So you know the Prince ? 

Widow — Know him, madam ? Ah, I begin to fear it 
is you who know him not ! 

Pauline — Can we stay here, my lord ? I think there's 
something very wild about her. 

Mel — Madam, I — no, I cannot tell her ; what a cow 
ard is a man who has lost his honor ! Speak to her— 



46 SCENE FROM THE LADY OF LYONS. 

speak to her (to his mother') — tell her that — O Heaveii; 
that I were dead ! 

Pauline — How confused he looks ! — this strange 
place ! — this woman — what can it mean ? I half sus- 
pect — Who are you madam ! who are you ? can't you 
speak ? are you struck dumb ? 

Widow — Claude, you have not deceived her ? Ah 1 
shame upon you ! I thought that before you went to 
the altar she was to have known all. 

Pauline — All ! what ! my blood freezes in my veins ! 

Widow — Poor lady ! dare I tell her, Claude ? Know 
you not, then, madam, that this youDg man is of poor 
though honest parents ? Know you not that you are 
wedded to my son, Claude Melnotte ? 

Pauline — Your son ! hold — hold ! do not speak to 
me. Is this a jest? is it? I know it is, only speak — 
one word — one look — one smile. I cannot believe — I, 
who love thee so — I cannot believe that thou art such a 
— No, I will not wrong thee by a ha.rsh word — speak I 

Mel — Leave us. Have pity on her, on me ; leave us. 

Widow — Oh, Claude, that I should live to see thee 
bowed by shame! thee, of whom I was so proud! lExif] 

Pauline — Her son, her son ! 

Mel — Now, lady, hear me. 

Pauline — Hear thee ! 
Ay, speak — her son ! have fiends a parent ? Speak, 
That thou may'st silence curses — speak ! 

Mel — No, curse me ; 
Thy curse would blast me less than thy forgiveness. 

Pauline — "This is thy palace, where the perfumed 
light 
Steals through the mist of alabaster lamps, 
And every air is heavy with the sighs 



SCENE FKOM THE LADY OF LYONS. 47 

Of orange groves, and music from sweet lutes, 
And murmurs of low fountains, that gush forth 
I' the midst of roses ! " Dost thou like the picture ? 
This is my bridal home, and thou my bridegroom. 

fool ! O dupe ! O wretch ! I see it all — 
The by-word and the jeer of every tongue 

In Lyons. Hast thou in thy heart one touch 
Of human kindness? If thou hast, why, kill me, 
And save thy wife from madness. No, it cannot — • 
It cannot be ; this is some horrid dream ; 

1 shall wake soon. Art flesh ? art man ? or but 
The shadows seen in sleep ? It is too real. 

What have I done to thee? How sinn'd against thee. 
That thou should'st crush me thus ? 

Mel — Pauline, by pride 
Angels have fallen, ere thy time : by pride — 
That sole alloy of thy most lovely mould — 
The evil spirit of a bitter love. 
And a revengeful heart, had power upon thee. 
From my first years my soul was fill'd with thee; 
I saw thee midst the flow'rs the lowly boy 
Tended, unmark'd by thee — a spirit of bloom. 
And joy, and freshness, as if Spring itself 
Were made a living thing, and wore thy shape. 
I saw thee, and the passionate heart of \nan 
Entered the breast of the wild-dreaming boy. 
And from that hour I grew — what, to the last 
I shall be — thine adorer ! Well, this love, 
Vain, frantic, guilty, if thou wilt, became 
A fountain of ambition and bright hope ; 
I thought of tales that, by the winter hearth 
Old gossips tell — how maidens sprung from kings 
Have stoop'd from their high sphere ; how love, like 
death, 



*8 SCENE FROM THE LADY OF LYONS. 

Levels all ranks, and lays the shepherd's crook 

Beside the sceptre. 

My father died ; and I, the peasant born, 

Was my own lord. Then did I seek to rise 

Out of the prison of my mean estate : 

And, with such jewels as the exploring mind 

Brings from the caves of know^ledge, buy my ranso^» 

From those twin gaolers of the daring heart — • 

Low birth and iron fortune. For thee I grew 

A midnight student o'er the dreams of sages : 

For thee I sought to borrow from each grace, 

And every muse, such attributes as lend 

Ideal charms to love. I thought of thee, 

And passion taught me poesy — of thee, 

And on the painter's canvass grew the life 

Of beauty ! Art became the shadow 

Of the dear starlight of thy haunting eyes ! 

Men call'd me vain — some mad — I heeded not ; 

But still toil'd on — hoped on — for it was sweet, 

If not to win, to feel more worthy thee ? 

Pauline — ^Why do I cease to hate him ? 

Mel — At last, in one mad hour, I dared to pour 
The thoughts that burst their channels into song. 
And sent them to thee — such a tribute, lady. 
As beauty rarely scorns, even from the meanest. 
The name appended by the burning heart 
That long'd to shew its idol what bright things 
It had created — yea, the enthusiast's name. 
That should have been thy triumph, was thy scorn ; 
That very hour, when passion, turn'd to wrath, 
Hesembled hatred most — when thy disdain 
Made my whole soul a chaos — in that hour 
The tempters found me a revengeful tool 



SCENE FROM THE LADY OF LYONS. 49 

For their revenge ! Thou hadst trampled on the worm — • 
It turned and stung thee I 

Pauline — Love, sir, hath no sting. 
What was the slight of a poor powerless girl 
To the deep wrong of this most vile revenge ? 
Oh, how I loved this man ! a serf, a slave ! 

Mel — Hold, lady ! No, not a slave ! Despair is 
free! 
I will not tell thee of the throes, the struggles, 
The anguish, the remorse : no, let it pass ! 
And let me come to such most poor atonement 
Yet in my power. Pauline ! 

Pauline — No, touch me not ! 
I know my fate. You are, by law, my, tyrant , 
And I — O Heaven ! — a peasant's wife ! I'll work, 
Toil, drudge, do what thou wilt — but touch me not ; 
Let my wrongs make me sacred ! 

Mel — Do not fear me. 
Thou dost not know me, madam ; at the altar 
My vengeance ceased — my guilty oath expired ! 
Henceforth, no image of some marble saint 
Niched in cathedral aisles is hallowed more 
From the rude hand of sacrilegious WTong, 
I am thy husband — nay, thou need'st not shudder ; 
Here at thy feet I lay a husband's rights, 
A marriage thus unholy — unfulfilled — ' 
A bond of fraud — is, by the laws of France, 
Made void and null. To-night sleep — sleep in peace. 
To-morrow, pure and virgin as this morn 
I bore thee, bathed in blushes, from the shrine, 
Thy father's arms shall take thee to thy home. 
The law shall do thee justice, and restore 
Thy right to bless another with thy love. 



50 HENRY THE FIFTH'S WOOING. 

And when thou art happy, and hast half forgot 
Him who so loved — so wrong'd thee, think, at least — 
Heaven left some remnant of the angel still 
In that poor peasant's nature. 

[Enter Widow.] 
Conduct this lady — she is not my wife ; 
She is our guest — our honored guest — my mother — 
To the poor chamber where the sleep of virtue 
Never, beneath my father's honest roof, 
Ev'n villains dare to mar ! Now, lady, now, 
I think thou wilt believe me. 

Go, my mother 1 

Widow — She is not thy wife ! 

Mel — Hush, hush ! for mercy's sake. 
Speak not, but go. 
lExit Widow. Pauline follows, turns to look back.'] 

Mel — All angels bless and guard her ! 



HENRY THE FIFTH'S WOOING. 



KHEN — Fair Katharine, and most fair, 
• Will you vouchsafe to teach a soldier terms 
Such as will enter at a lady's ear 
And plead his love-suit to her gentle heart ? 

Kath — Your majesty shall mock at me ; I cannot 

speak your England. 
K. Hen — O fair Katharine, if you will love me soundly 
with your French heart, I will be glad to hear you con- 
fess it brokenly with your English tongue. Do you like 
me, Kate? 

KatJc — Pardonnez-moi, I cannot tell vat is ' like me.' 



HENRY THE FIFTh's WOOING. 61 

K. Hen — An angel is like you, Kate, and you are like 
an angel. 

Kath — Que dit-il ? que je suis semblable a les an- 
ges? 

Aliee — Oui, vraiment, sauf votre grace, ainsi dit-il. 

K. Hen — I said so, dear Katharine ; and I must not 
blush to affirm it. 

Kath — O les langues hommes sont pleines de trom- 
peries. 

K. Hen — What says she, fair one ? that the tongues of 
men are full of deceits ? 

Alice — Oui, dat de tongues of de mans is be full of de- 
ceits : dat is de princess. 

K. Hen — The princess is the better English woman. 
I* faith, Kate, my wooing is fit for thy understanding: 
I am glad thou canst speak no better English ; for, if 
thou couldst, thou wouldst find me such a plain king 
that thou wouldst think I had sold my farm to buy my 
crown. I knov/ no ways to mince it in love, but directly 
to say * I love you :' then if you urge me further than to 
say * do you in faith ? ' I wear out my suit. Give, me 
your answer ; i' faith, do : and so clap hands and a bar- 
gain : how say you, lady ? 

Kath — Sauf votre honneur, me understand veil. 

K. Hen — Marry, if you would put me to verses or to 
dance for your sake, Kate, why you undid me : for the 
one I have neither words nor measures, and for the 
other, I have no strength in measure, yet a reasonable 
measure in strength. If I could win a lady at leap-frog, 
or by vaulting into my saddle with my armor on my 
back, under the correction of bragging be it spoken, I 
should quickly leap into a wife. Or if I might buffet 
for my love, or bound my horse for her favors, I could 



52 HENRY THE FIFTH's WOOING, 



3vep « 



lay on like a butcher and sit like a jack-an-apes, never 
off. But, Kate, I cannot look greenly nor gasp out my 
eloquence, nor I have no cunning in protestation : only 
downright oaths, which I never use till urged, nor never 
break for urgingi. If thou canst love a fellow of this 
temper, Kate, whose face is not worth sun-burniBg, that 
never looks in his glass for love of anything he sees 
there, let thine eye be thy cook. I speak to thee plain 
soldier : if thou canst love me for this, take me : if not, 
to say to thee that I shall die, is true ; but for thy love, 
no : yet I love thee too. And while thou livest, dear 
Kate, take a fellow of plain and uncoined constancy ; 
for he perforce must do thee right, because he hath not 
the gift to woo in other places : for these fellows of in- 
finite tongue, that can rhyme themselves into ladies' 
favors, they do always reason themselves out again. 
What ! a speaker is but a prater ; a rhyme is but a 
ballad. A good leg will fall ; a straight back will 
stoop ; a black beard will turn white ; a curled pate 
will grow bald ; a fair face will wither ; a full eye will 
wax hollow : but a good heart, Kate, is the sun and the 
moon ; or rather the sun and not the moon ; for it shines 
bright and never changes, but keeps his course truly. 
If thou would have such a one, take me ; and take me, 
take a soldier ; take a soldier, take a king. And what 
sayest thou then to my love ? speak, my fair, and fairly, 
I pray thee. 

Kath — Is it possible dat I sould love de enemy of 
France ? 

K. Hen — No ; it is not possible you should love the 
enemy of France, Kate : but, in loving me, you should 
love the friend of France ; for I love France so well 
that I will not part with a village of it ; I wiH have it 



63 



all mine; and, Kate, when France is mine and I am 
yours, then yours is France and you are mine. 
Kath — I cannot tell vat is dat. 

K. Hen — No, Kate ? I will tell thee in French ; 
which I am sure will hang upon my tongue like a new- 
married wife about her husband's neck, hardly to be 
shook oif. Je quand sur le possession de France, et 
quand vous avez le possession do moi — let me see, what 
then ? Saint Denis be ray speed ! — done votre est France 
et vous etes mienne. It is as easy for me, Kate, to 
conquer the kingdom p^s to speak so much more French ; 
I shall never move thee in French, unless it be to laugh 
at me. 

Kath — Sauf votre honneur, le Francois que vous par' 
lez, il est meilleur que 1' Anglois lequel je parle. 

K. Hen — No, faith, is ' t not, Kate ; but thy speaking 
of my tongue, and I thine, most truly-falsely, must 
needs be granted to be much at one. But, Kate, 
dost thou understand thus much English, canst thou 
love me ? 

Kath — I cannot tell. 

K. Hen — Can any of your neighbors tell Kate ? 

I'll ask them. Come, I know thou lovest me; and 

; at night, when you come into your closet, you 'il 

question this gentlewoman about me ; and I know, 

! Kate, you will to her dispraise those parts in me that 

1 you love with your heart; but, good Kate, mock me 

mercifully ; the rather, gentle princess, because I love 

thee cruelly. How answer you, la plus belle Katharine 

tliel^du monde, mon tres cher et devin deesse? 

Qiild I Kath — ^Your majestee ave faussee French enough 

to deceive de most sage demoiselle dat is in France. 
^.:^it|l K. Hen — Now, fie upon my false French ! By mine 



54 HENRY THE FIFTh's WOOING. 

honor, in true English, I love thee, Kate ; by which 
honor I dare not swear thou lovest me ; yet my blood 
begins to flatter me that thou dost, notwithstanding the 
poor and untempering effect of my visage. I was 
created with a stubborn outside, with an aspect of iron, 
that, when I come to woo ladies, I fright them. But, in 
faith, Kate, the elder I wax, the better I shall appear ; 
my comfort is, that old age, that ill layer up of beauty, 
can do no more spoil upon my face : thou hast me, if 
thou hast me, at the worst ; and thou shalt wear me, if 
thou wear me, better and better : and, therefore, tell me, 
most fair Katharine, will you have me ? Put off your 
maiden blushes; avouch the thoughts of your heart 
with the looks of an empress ; take me by the hand, 
and say* Harry of England, I am thine;' which word- 
thou shalt no sooner bless mine ear withal, but I will! 
tell thee aloud, * England is thine, Ireland is thine, 
France is thine, and Henry Plantagenet is thine ;' who, 
though I speak it before his face, if he be not fellow 
with the best king, thou shalt find the best king of good 
fellows. Come, your answer in broken music ; for thy 
voice is music and thy English broken ; therefore, queen 
of all, Katharine, break thy mind to me in broken, 
English ; wilt thou have me ? 

Kath — Dat is as it sail please de roi mon pere. 

K. Hen — Nay, it will please him well, Kate ; it shall 
please him, Kate. 

Kath — Den it sail also content me. 

K. Hen — Upon that I kiss your hand, and I call you 
my queen. 

Kath — Laissez, mon seigneur, laissez, laissez. 

K. Hen — Then I will kiss your lips, Kate. 

Kath — II n'est pas la coutume de France. 



COMBAT OF FITZ JAMES AND RODERICK DHU. 55 

K. Hen — Madam my interpreter, what says she ? 

Alice — Dat it is not be de fashion pour les ladies of 
France — I cannot tell vat is baiser en Anglish. 

K. Hen— To kiss. 

Alice — Your majesty entendre bettre que moi. 

K. Hen — It is not a fashion for the maids in France 
to kiss before they are married, would she say ? 

Alice — Oui, vraiment. 

K. Hen — O Kate, nice customs curtsy to great kings. 
Dear Kate, you and I cannot be confined within the 
weak list of a country's fashion : we are the makers of 
manners,^ Kate ; and the liberty that follows our places 
stops the mouth of all find-faults ; as I will do yours, for 
upholding the nice fashion of your country in denying 
me a kiss ; therefore, patiently and yielding. \_Kissing 
her.'] You have witchcraft in your lips, Kate ? there 
is more eloquence in a sugar touch of them than in the 
tongues of the French council ; and they should sooner 
persuade Harry of England than a general petition of 
monarchs. 

Shakspeare. 



COMBAT BETWEEN FITZ JAMES AND 
EODERICK DHU. 



scene I. 

Enteif FiTZ- James {^Kneeling, with a braid of hair in his 

hand, which he fixes on his breast as he speaks). 

Fitz-James — Poor Blanche ! no more by Devon-side 

Thou 'It search for him wdio bravely died 

Defendinor thee, his new-made bride. 



i}0 COMBAT OF FIT2 JAMES AKD RODERICK DHU. 

Thy "blood poured out for me demands 

A signal vengeance at my hands. 

And though E,ed Murdock low does lie, 

His rebel chieftain too must die. 

By Him whose word is truth ! I swear 

No other favor will I wear, 

Till this sad token I imbrue 

In the best blood of Roderick Dhu ! 

But hark! what means yon faint halloo? 

Like bloodhounds now tlicy seek me out ; 

I hear the whistle and the shout. 

Well, I can perish sword in hand ! 

Roderich — Thy name and purpose ! Saxon, stand I 

Fitz — A stranger; 

Rod — • What dost thou require ? 

Fitz — Rest and a guide, and food and fire ; 
My life's beset, my path is lost, 
The gale has cliilled my limbs Avith frost. 

Rod — Art thou a friend to Roderick? 

Fitz—Eo. 

Rod — Thou darest not call thyself his foe ? 

Fitz — I dare I to him and all the band 
He brings to aid his murderous hand ! 

Rod — Bold words, brave youth ; they surely lie 
Who said thou camest a secret spy ! 

Fitz — " They do, indeed ! Come, Roderick Dhu, 
And of his clan the boldest two. 
And let me but till morning rest, 
I write the falsehood on their crest." — 

Rod — Stranger, I am to Roderick Dhu 
A clansman born, a kinsman true ; 
Each word against his honor spoke. 
Demands of me avenging stroke ; 



COMBAT OF FITZ JAMES AND RODERICK DHU. 5i 

Yet more, upon thy fate, ' tis said, 

A mighty augury is laid. 

It rests with me to wind my horn, 

Thou art with numbers overborne ; 

It rests with me here, brand to brand, 

Worn as thou art, to bid thee stand : 

But, not for clan, nor kindred's cause, 

Will I depart from honor's laws ; 

To assail a wearied man were shame, 

And stranger is a holy name ; 

Guidance and rest, and food and fire. 

In vain he never must require. 

Then rest thee here till dawn of day ; 

Myself will guide thee on the way, 

O'er stock and stone, through watch and wardj 

Till past Clan-Alpine's utmost guard, 

As far as Coilantogle's ford ; 

From thence thy warrant is thy sword. 

Fitz — I take thy courtesy as 'tis given I 
And, though thy foe, will proudly share 
Thy soldier's couch, thy soldier's fare. 

SCENE II. 

Enter Roderick and Fitz- James. 

Bod — Now, stranger, say, why wandered you 
Without a pass from Roderick Dim. 

Fitz — My safest pass, in danger tried. 
Hangs on my belt here, by my side. 
Perhaps I sought a greyhound strayed ; 
Perhaps I sought a Highland maid. 

Mod — But, stranger, if in peace you came, 
Bewildered in the mountain game. 



J 



Db COMBAT OF FITZ JAMES AND RODERICK DHU. 

Whence tlie bold boast by whicli you show 
Sir Roderick's vowed and mortal foe ? 

Fitz — ^^Yarrior, but yester-morn I knew 
Naught of thy chieftain, Roderick Dhu, 
Save as an outlawed, ruthless man. 
The head of a rebellious clan. 
But now, I am by promise tied 
To match me vrith this man of pride ; 
Twice have I sought Clan- Alpine's glen 
In peace ; but when I come again, 
I come w^ith banner, brand and bow 
As leader seeks his mortal foe. 
For love-lorn swain in lady's bower 
Ne'er panted for the appointed hour, 
As I, until before me stand 
This rebel chieftain and his band ! 

Hod — Have, then, thy wish ! Thy rashness rue! 

(Bloios a whistle, when warriors appear on all sides.) 

Those are Clan- Alpine's warriors true ; 

And, Saxon, I am Roderick Dhu ! 
Fitz — (^Drawing his sword.) 

Come one, come all, this rock shall fly 

From its firm base, as soon as I, 

Mod — ( Waves his hand and the soldiers disappear.') 

Fear nought — nay, that I need not say — • 

But — doubt not aught from mine array. 

Thou art my guest — I pledged my word 

As far as Coilantogle ford : 

ITor would I call a clansman's brand 

For aid against one valiant hand, 

Though on our strife lay every vale 

Rent by the Saxon from the Gael. 

So move we on ; I onlv meant 



COMBAT OF FITZ JAMES AND RODERTCK DHU. 59 

To show the reed on which jou leant, 
Deeming this path you might pursue 
Without a pass from Roderick Dhu. 

( They walk around the platform until Roderick suddenly 

stops, and, facing Fitz- James, says : — ) 
" Bold Saxon ! to his promise just, 
Vich- Alpine has discharged his trust. 
This murderous chief, this ruthless man, 
This head of a rebellious clan, 
Hath led thee safe, through watch and ward, 
Far past Clan- Alpine's outmost guard. 
Now, man to man, and steel to steel, 
A chieftain's vengeance thou shalt feel. 
See, here, all vantageless I stand. 
Armed like thyself with single brand ; 
For this is Coilantogle ford. 
And thou must keep thee with thy sword. 

Fitz — Sir Roderick, I have ne'er delayed. 
When foeman bade me draw my blade ; 
Nay, more, brave chief, I vowed thy death : 
Yet sure thy fair and generous faith, 
And my deep debt for life preserved, 
A better meed have well deserved. 
Can naught but blood our feud atone ? 
Are there no means ? 

JRod — No, stranger, none ! 
And here — ^to fire thy flagging zeal — 
The Saxon cause rests on thy steel : 
For thus spoke Fate, by prophet bred 
Between the living and the dead : 
** Who spills the foremost foeman's life, 
His party conquers in the strife.'* 



60 COMBAT OF FITZ JAMFS AND RODERICK DHU, 

Fitz — Then, by my word, the riddle's read ; 
Seek yonder brake beneath the cliiT; 
There lies Red Murdoch, stark and stiff. 
Thus Fate has solved her prophecy ; 
Then yield to Fate and not to me. 

i^oc?— Soars thy presumption, then, so high ? 
Because a wretched kern ye sle\Y, 
Homage to name to Roderick Dhu ? 
He yields not, he, to man nor Fate ! 
Thou add'st but fuel to my hate : 
My clansman's blood demands revenge. 
Not yet prepared ? Ah, then, I change 
My thought, and hold thy valor light 
As that of some vain carpet-knight, 
Who ill deserved my courteous care, 
And whose best boast is but to wear 
A braid of his fair lady's hair. 

Fitz — I thank thee, Roderick, for that word I 
It nerves my heart, it steels my sword ; 
For I have sworn this braid to stain 
In the best blood that warms thy vein. 
Now, truce, farewell ! and, ruth, begone I 
Yet think not that by thee alone, 
Proud chief, can courtesy be shown : 
Though not ftom copse or heath or cairn. 
Start at my whistle clansmen stern, 
Of this small horn one feeble blast 
Would fearful odds against thee cast. 
But fear not — doubt not — which thou wilt ; 
We try this quarrel hilt to hilt. 

(As the speakers assume the attitude of combat the curtain 
should fall.) 
Arranged as a Dialogue by J. Hughes. 



THE RIVALS. 61 

THE RIVALS. 



ACT III, SCENE I. 



The North Parade. 

Enter Captain Absolute, l. 

Capt. A. — 'Tis just as Fag told me, indeed ! — Whimsi« 
cal enough, 'faith ! My father wants to force me to 
marry the very girl I am plottiug to run away with I 
He must not know of my connection with her yet awhile. 
He has too summary a method of proceeding in these 
matters ; however, I'll read my recantation instantly. 
My conversion is something sudden, indeed ; but I can 
assure him, it is very sincere. — So, so, here he comes — 
he looks plaguy gruff I [ Steps aside, l.] 

Enter Sir Anthony, r. 

Sir A. — No — I'll die sooner than forgive him I Die, 
did I say ? I'll live these fifty years to plague him. At 
our last meeting his impudence had aim est put me out 
of temper — an obstinate, passionate, self-willed boy I 
Wlio can he take after ? This is my return for getting 
him before all his brothers and sisters ! for putting him, 
at twelve years old, into a marching regiment, and 
allowing him fifty pounds a year, besides his pay, eve? 
since ! But I have done with him — he's anybody's son 
for me — I never will see him more — never — never—- 
never — never. 

Capt. A. — Now for a penitential face ! 

\_Comes fonvard on the L. j 
. Sir A. — Fellow, get out of my w^ay ! [Crosses, '&.'} 

Capt. A. — Sii*, you see a penitent before you? 



62 



THE RIVALS. 



Sir A. \turning his backl — I see an impudent scoun- 
drel behind me. 

Capt. A. — A sincere penitent. I am come, sir, to ac- 
knowledge my error, and to submit entirely to your will. 

/Sir ^.—What's that? 

Capt A. — I have been revolving, and reflecting, and 
considering on your past goodness, and kindness, and 
condescension to me. 

/SiV^.—Well, sir? 

Capt A. — I have been likewise weighing and balanc- 
ing what you were pleased to mention concerning duty, 
and obedience, and authority. 

Sir A. [turning round] — Why, now you talk sense, 
absolute sense ; I never heard anything more sensible in 
my life. Confound you, you shall be Jack again ! 

Capt A. — I am happy in the appellation. 

Sir A. — Why then, Jack, my dear Jack, I will now in- 
form you who the lady really is. Nothing but your pas- 
sion and violence, you silly fellow, prevented me telling 
you at first. Prepare, Jack, for wonder and rapture — 
prepare I What think you of Miss Lydia Languish ? 

Capt A. — Languish! What, the Languishes of Wor- 
cestershire ? 

Sir A. — Worcestershire ! No ! Did you never meet 
Mrs. Malaprop, and her niece. Miss Languish, who came 
into our country just before you were last ordered to 
your regiment. 

Capt A. — Malaprop ! Languish ! I don't remembei^ 
ever to have heard the name before. Yet, stay : I think 
I do recollect something. Languish — Languish I She 
squints, don't she? A little red-haired girl ? 

Sir A, — Squints ! A red-haired girl ! Zounds, no ! 

Capt A. — Then I must have forgot : it can't be the 
same person. 

43 



THE RIVALS. 63 

Sir A, — Jack, Jack ! what tlimk you of blooming, 
love-breathing seventeen ? 

Capt. A. — As to that, sir, I am quite indifferent : if I 
can please you in the matter, 'tis all I desire. 

Sir A. — Nay, but Jack, such eyes ! such eyes ! so in- 
nocently wild ! so bashfully irresolute ! Not a glance 
but speaks and kindles some thought of love ! Then, 
Jack, her cheeks ! her cheeks, Jack ! so deeply blushing 
at the insinuations of her tell-tale eyes ! Then, Jack, 
her lips ! Oh, Jack, lips, smiling at their own discre- 
tion ! and, if not smiling, more sweetly pouting — more 
lovely in sullenness ! Then, Jack, her neck ! Oh I 
Jack ! Jack ! 

Capt. A. — And which is to be mine, sir : the niece, or 
the aunt? 

Sir A. — ^Why, you unfeeling, insensible puppy, I 
despise you ! When I was of your age, such a descrip- 
tion would have made me fly like a rocket ! The aunt, 
indeed! Odds life ! when I ran away with your mother 
I would not have touched any thing old or ugly to gain 
an empire ! 

Capt. A. — Not to please your father, sir ? 

Sir A. — To please my father — zounds ! not to please — ' 
Oh ! my father ? Oddso ! yes, yes ! if my father, indeed 
had desired — that's quite another matter. Though he 
wasn't the indulgent father that I am, Jack. 

Capt. A. — ^I dare say not, sir. 

Sir A. — But, Jack, you are not sorry to find your 
mistress is so beautiful? 

Capt A. — Sir, I repeat it, if I please you in this af- 
fair, 'tis all I desire. Not that I think a woman the 
worse for being handsome; but, sir, if you please to 
recollect, you before hinted something about a hump or 
two, one eye and a few more graces of that kind. ]Si ow. 



64 



THE RIVALS. 



without being very nice, I own I should rather choose a 
wife of mine to have the usual number of limbs, and a 
limited quantity of back ; and though one eye may be 
very agreeable, yet, as the prejudice has always run in 
favor of two, I would not wish to affect a singularity in 
that article. 

Sir A. — What a phlegmatic sot it is ? Why, sirrah, 
you are an anchorite ! a vile, insensible stock ! You a 
soldier I you're a walking block, fit only to dust the 
company's regimentals on ! Odds life, I've a great mind 
to marry the girl myself ! 

Capt A. — I am entirely at your disposal, sir ; if you 
should think of addressing Miss Languish yourself, I 
suppose you would have me marry the aunt ; or if you 
should change your mind, and take the old lady, 'tis the 
same to me — I'll marry the niece. 

Sir A. — Upon my word, Jack, thou art either a very 
great hypocrite, or — but, come, I know your indiffer- 
ence on such a subject must be all a lie — I'm sure it 
must. Come, now, confound your demure face ; come, 
confess, Jack you have been lying, ha'nt you? You 
have been playing the hypocrite, hey ? I'll never for. 
give you, if you ha'nt been lying and playing the hypo- 
crite. 

Capt A. — I am sorry, sir, that the respect and dut;^ 
which I bear to you should be so mistaken. 

Sir A. — Hang your respect and duty ! But come 
along with me. [ Crosses to l.] I'll write a note to Mrs. 
Malaprop, and you shall visit the lady directly. Her 
eyes shall be the Promethean torch to you — come along, 
I'll never forgive you, if you don't come back stark mad 
with rapture and impatience — if you don't, 'egad, I'U 
marry the girl myself I lExeunt, lJ 



lochiel's warning. 65 

LOCHIEL'S WAENING. 



WIZAED. — Lochiel ! Lochiel ! beware of the day 
When the Lowlands shall meet thee in battle array I 
For a field of the dead rushes red on ray sight, 
And the clans of Culloden are scattered in fight : 
They rally ! — they bleed ! — for their kingdom and crown : 
Woe, woe to the riders that trample them down! 
Proud Cumberland prances, insulting the slain, 
And their hoof-beaten bosoms are trod to the plain. 
But hark ! through the fast-flashing lightning of war, 
What steed to the desert flies frantic and far ? 
'Tis thine, Glanullin! whose bride shall await, 
Like a love-lighted watch-fire, all night at the gate, 
A steed comes at morning ; no rider is there ; 
But its bridle is red with the sign of despair. 
Weep Albin ! to death and captivity led ! 
Oh, weep ! but thy tears cannot number the dead : 
For a merciless sword o'er Culloden shall wave, 
Culloden ! that reeks with the blood of the brave. 

Lochiel. — Go, preach to the coward, thou death-telling 
seer. 
Or, if gory Culloden so dreadful appear, 
Draw, dotard, around thy old wavering sight. 
This mantle, to cover the phantoms of fright. 

Wizard. — Ha! laugh'st thou, Lochiel, my vision to 
scorn ? 
Proud bird of the mountain, thy plume shall be torn ! 
Say, rushed the bold eagle exultingly forth. 
From his home in the dark-rolling clouds of the North? 
Lo! the death-shot of foemen outspeeding, he rode 
Oompanionless, bearing destruction abroad ; 
But down let him stoop from his havoc on high ! 
All ! home let him speed — for the spoiler is nigh. 



6f> lochiel's warning. 

Why flames the far summit? Why shoot to the blast 
Those ember?, like stars from the firmament cast? 
'Tis the fire-shower of ruin, all dreadfully driven 
From his eyry, that beacons the darkness of heaven. 
Oh, crested Lochiel ! the peerless in might, 
Whose banners arise on the battlements' beiglit 
Heaven's fire is around thee, to blast and to burn; 
Return to thy dwelling, all lonely ! — return ! 
For the blackness of ashes shall mark where it stood, 
And a wild mother scream o'er her famishing brood. 

Lochiel. — False Wizard, avauut! I have marshaled 
my clan ; 
Their swords are a thousand, their bosoms are one ! 
They are true to the last of their blood and their breath, 
And like reapers descend to the harvest of death. 
Then welcome be Cumberland's steed to the shock ! 
Let him dash his proud foam like a wave on the rockl 
But woe to his kindred, and woe to his cause, 
When Albin her claymore indignantly draws ; 
"When her bonneted chieftains to victory crowd, 
Clanranald the dauntless, and Moray the proud, 
All plaided and plumed in their tartan array — 

Wizard. — Lochiel! Lochiel! beware of the day! 
For, dark and despairing, my sight I may seal. 
But man cannot cover what God would reveal: 
T is the sunset of life gives me mystical lore, 
And coming events cast their shadows before. 
I tell thee, Culloden's dread echoes shall ring 
With the blood-hounds that bark for thy fugitive king. 
Lo ! anointed by heaven with vials of wrath, 
Behold, where he flies on his desolate path ! 
Now, in darkness and billows, he sweeps from my sight: 
Rise I rise! ye wild tempests, and cover his flight I 



lochiel's warning. (5'1 

Tis finished. Their thuuders are hushed on the moors; 

Culloden is lost, and my country deplores : 

But where is the iron-bound prisoner ? where ? 

For the red eye of battle is shut in despair. 

Say, mounts he the ocean-wave, banished, forlorn, 

Like a limb from his country, cast bleeding and torn? 

Ah, no [ for a darker departure is near ; 

The war-dram is muffled ; and black is the bier; 

His death-bell is tolling ; oh ! mercy, dispel 

Yon sight that it freezes my spirit to tell ! 

Life flutters, convulsed, in his quivering limbs, 

And his blood-streaming nostril in agony swims. 

Accursed be the fagots that blaze at his feet, 

Where his heart shall be thrown, ere it ceases to beat, 

With the smoke of its ashes to poison the gale — 

Lochiel. — Down, soothless insulter ! I trust not the 
tale. 
For never shall Albin a destiny meet, 
So black with dishonor, so foul with retreat. 
Though my perishing ranks should be strewed in their 

gore. 
Like ocean-weeds heaped on the surf-beaten shore, 
Lochiel, untainted by flight or by chains. 
While the kindling of life in his bosom remains, 
Shall victor exult, or in death be laid low. 
With his back to the field and his feet to the foe, 
And leaving in battle no blot on his name, 
Look proudly to heaven from the death-bed of fame. 

Campbell. 



68 FROM THE TRAGEDY OF TIAMLKT. 



FROM THE TRAGEDY OF HAMLET. 



ACT III, SCENE IV. 



lEnter Hamlet.] 

HAMLET — Now, mother, what's the matter? 
Queen — Hamlet, thou hast thy father much of- 
fended. 
Hamlet — Mother, you have my father much offended* 
Queen — Come, come, you answer with an idle 

tongue. 
Samlet — Go, go, you question with a wicked tongue. 
Queen — Why, how now, Hamlet ! 
Hamlet — What's the matter now ? 
Queen — Have you forgot me ? 
Hamlet — No, by the rood, not so . 
You are the queen, your husband's brother's wife ; 
And — would it were not so ! — you are my mother. 

§1*6671— Nay, then, I'll set those to you that can 



Hamlet — Come, come, and sit you down ; you shall not 
budge : 
Y^ou go not till I set you up a glass 
Where you may see the inmost part of you. 

Queen — What wilt thou do ? thou wilt not murther 
me? 



FROM THE TRAGEDY OF HAMLET. 69 

Help, help, ho ! 

Polonius— [Behind'] What, ho ! help, help, help ! 

Samlet — [Drawing'] How now ! a rat ? Dead, for a 
ducat, dead ! [Makes a pass through the arras.] 

Polonius — [Behind] O, I am slain ! [Falls and dies.] 

Queen — O me, what hast thou done ? 

Hamlet — Nay, I know not ; 
Is it the king ? 

Queen — 0, what a rash and bloody deed is this ! 

Hamlet — A bloody deed ! almost as bad, good mother, 
As kill a king, and marry with his brother. 

Queen — As kill a king ! 

Hamlet — Ay, lady, 't was my word. — 

[Lifts up the arras and discovers Polonius.] 
Thou wretched, rash, intruding fool, farewell ! 
I took thee for thy better : 

Leave wringing of your hands : peace ! sit you down, 
And let me wring your heart ; for so I shall, 
If it be made of penetrable stuff. 
If damned custom have not braz'd it so 
That it is proof and bulwark against sense. 

Queen — What have I done, that thou darest wag thy 
tongue 
In noise so rude against me ? 

Hamlet — Such an act 
That blurs the grace and blush of modesty, 
Calls virtue hypocrite, takes off the rose 
From the fair forehead of an innocent love 
And sets a blister there, makes marriage-vows 
As false as dicers* oaths ; O, such a deed 
As from the body of contraction plucks 
The very soul, and sweet religion makes 
A rhapsody of words : heaven's face doth glow. 



70 PROMT^^TRAGED^O^^MU^ 

Yea, this sondity and compound mass, 
With tristful visage, as against the doom, 
Is thought-sick at the act. 

Queen — Ay me, what act, 
That roars so loud and thunders in the index? 

Samlet— Jjook here, upon this picture, and on this, 
The counterfeit presentment of two brothers. 
See, what a grace was seated on this brow ; 
Hyperion's curls ; the front of Jove himself; 
An eye like Mars, to threaten and command ; 
A station like the herald Mercury 
New-lighted on a heaven-kissing hill ; 
A combination and a form indeed. 
Where every god did seem to set his seal, 
To give the world assurance of a man. 
This was your husband. Look you now, what follows ; 
Here is your husband ; like a mildew'd ear. 
Blasting his wholesome brother. Have you eyes ? 
Could you on this fair mountain leave to feed, 
And batten on this moor ? Ha ! have you eyes ? 
You cannot call it love, for at your age 
The hey-day in the blood is tame, it's humble, 
And waits upon the judgment; and what judgment 
Would step from this to this ? 
O shame I where is thy blush ? 

Queen — O Hamlet, speak no more ; 
Thou turn'st miue eyes into my very soul, 
And there I see such black and grained spots 
As will not leave their tinct. 
0, speak to me no more ; 
These words like daggers enter in mine ears : 
No more, sweet Hamlet ! 

Samlet — A murtherer and a villain ; 



FKOM THE TRAGEDY OF HAMLET. 71 

A slave that is not twentieth part the tithe 
Of your precedent lord ; a vice of kings ; 
A cutpurse of the empire and the rule, 
That from a shelf the precious diadem stole, 
And put it in his pocket ! 
Queen — No more ! 
Hamlet — A king of shreds and patches,.r— 

[Enter Ghost.] 
Save me, and hover o'er me with your wings. 
You heavenly guards ! — What would your gracious 
figure ? 
Queen — Alas ! he 's mad ! 

Samlet — Do you not come your tardy son to chide, 
Tliat, laps'd in time and passion, lets go by 
The important acting of your dread command ? 
O, say! 

Ghost — Do not forget. This visitation 
Is but to whet thy almost blunted purpose. 
But, look, amazement on thy mother sits : 
O, step between her and her fighting soul ; 
Speak to her Hamlet. 

Hamlet — How is it with you, lady ? 
Queen — Alas, how is't with you. 
That you do bend your eye on vacancy 
And with the incorporal air do hold discourse ? 

O gentle son, 
Upon the heat and flame of thy distemper 
Sprinkle cool patience. Whereon do you look ? 

Hamlet — On him, on him ! Look you, how pale he 
glares ! 
His form and cause conjoin'd, preaching to stones^ 
Would make them capable. Do not look upon me ; 
Lest with this piteous action you convert 



72 FROM THE TRAGEDY OF HAMLET. 

My stern effects ; then T\'hat I have to do 

Will want true colo? ; tears perchance for blood. 

Queen — To whom do you speak this ? 

Hamlet — Do you see nothing there ? 

Queen — Nothing at all ; yet all that is I see, 

Hamlet — Nor did you nothing hear ? 

Queen — No, nothing but ourselves. 

Hamlet — Why, look you there ! look, how it steals 
away ! 
My father, in his habit as he liv'd ! 
Look, where he goes, even now, out at the portal ! 

'iExit Ghost.'] 

Queen — This is the very coinage of your brain ; 
This bodiless creation ecstasy 
Is very cunning in. -^^h 

Hamlet — Ecstasy ! 4B 

My pulse, as yours, doth temperately keep time, 
And makes as healthful music : it is not madness 
That I have utter' d; bring me to the test. 
And I the matter will re-word, which madness 
Would gambol from. Mother, for love of grace. 
Lay not that flattering unction to your soul. 
That not your trespass but my madness speaks ; 
It will but skin and film the ulcerous place. 
Whilst rank corruption, mining all within, 
Infects unseen. Confess yourself to heaven ; 
Uepent what's past, avoid what is to come. 

Queen — O Hamlet, thou hast cleft my heart iu 
twain. 

Hamlet — 0, throw away the worser part of it, 
And live the purer with the other half. 

For this same lord, [^Pointing to Polonius.J 

I do repent ; 



QUEEN MARY. 73 

I will bestow him, and will answer well 

The death I gave him — So, again, good night. 

I must be cruel, only to be kiud ; 

Thus bad begins, and worse remains behind. 

Shakspeare. 



QUEEN MARY. 



ACT Y. SCENE Y. 

London. A room in the palace. Mary. Lady Clarence, 

Lady Magdalen Dacres. Alice. Queen pacing 

the gallery. A writing-table in front. Queen 

comes to the table and writes, and goes 

again, still pacing the gallery. 

Lady Clarence — Mine eyes are dim; what hath she 

written ? Read. 
Alice — " I am dying, Philip. Come to me." 
Lady Magdalen — There, up and down, poor lady, up 

and down. 
Alice — ^And how her shadow crosses, one by one. 
The moonlight casements pattern' d on the wall. 
Following her like her sorrow. She turns again. 

[ Queen sits and writes and goes again.'] 
Lady Clarence — ^^Vhat hath she written now ? 
Alice — Nothing but " Come, come, come," and all 
awry, 
And blotted by her tears. This cannot last. 

[ Queen returns.] 
Mary — I whistle to the bird has broken cage, 
And all in vain. [Sitting doum.'] 
Calais gone. Guisnes gone, too — and Philip's gone I 



74 QUEEN MARY. 

Lady Clarence — Dear madam, Philip is but at the 



I cannot doubt but that he comes again ; 
And he is with you in a measure still. 
I never looked upon so fair a likeness 
As your great king in armor there, 
His hand upon his helmet. 

[^Pointing to the portrait of Philip on the wall.'] 

Mary — Doth he not look noble ? 
I had heard of him in battle over seas, 
And I would have my warrior all in arms. 
He said it was not courtly to stand helmeted 
Before the Queen. He had his gracious moments, 
Altho' you'll not believe me. How he smiles, 
As if he loved me yet ! 

Lady Clarence — And so he does. 

Mary — He never loved me — nay, he could not love 
me. 
It was his father's policy against France. 
I am eleven years older than he, poor boy. [ Weeps.'] 

Alice [aside] — That was a lusty boy of twenty-seven 
Poor enough in God's grace ! 

Mary — ^And all in vain ! 
The Queen of Scots is married to the Dauphin, 
And Charles the lord of this low world is gonej, 
And all his wars and wisdom pass'd away, 
And in a moment I shall follow him. 

Lady Clarence — Nay, dearest lady, see your good 
physician. 

Mary — Drugs — but he knows they do not help me— 



That rest is all — tells me I must not think — 
That I must rest. I shall rest by and by. 



QUEEN MARY. 



75 



Catch the wildcat, cage him, and when he 
Springs and maims himself against the bars, say " rest !" 
Why, you must kill him if you would have him rest. 
Dead or alive you cannot make him happy. 

Lady Clarence — ^Your majesty has lived so pure a 
life, 
And done such mighty things by Holy Church, 
I trust that God will make you happy yet. 

Mary — ^What is this strange thing, happiness ? 
Sit down here ; 
Tell me thine happiest hour. 

Lady Clarence — I will, if that 
Will make your grace forget yourself a little. 
There runs a shallow brook across our field 
For twenty miles, where the black crow flies fire. 
And doth so bound and babble all the way 
As if itself were happy. It was May-time, 
And I was walking with the man I loved. 
I loved him, but I thought I was not loved. 
And both were silent, letting the wild brook 
Speak for us — till he stoop'd and gather'd me 
From out g, bed of thick forget-me-nots, 
Looked hard and sweet at me, and gave it me. 
I took it, tho' I did not know I took it. 
And put it in my bosom, and all at once 
I felt his arms about me, and his lips — • 

Mary — O ! God, I have been too slack, too slack. 
There are Hot Gospellers even among our guards — 
Nobles we dare not touch. We have but burnt 
The heretic priest, workmen, and women and children. 
Wet, famine, ague, fever, storms, wreck, wrath. 
We have so played the coward ; bat by God's grace 
We'll follow Philip's leading, and set up 



76 QUEEN MARY. 

The Holy Office here — garner the wheat, 

And burn the tares with unquenchable fire ! 

Burn I Fire, what a savor ! Tell the cooks to close 

The doors of all the offices below. Latimer ! 

Sir, we are private with our women here — 

Ever a rough, blunt and uncourtly fellow — 

Thou light'st a torch that will never go out. 

'Tis out — mine flames. Women, the Holy Father 

Has ta'en the legateship from our Cousin Pole. 

Was that well done ? And poor Pole pines for it, 

As I do, to the death. I am but a woman, 

I have no power. Ah, weak and meek old man, 

Seven-fold dishonor'd even in the sight 

Of thine ovai sectaries — No, no. No pardon i 

Why, that was false I There is the right hand still 

Beckons me hence. 

Sir, you were burnt for heresy, not for treason, 

Remember that ! 'Twas I and Bonner did it. 

And Pole. We are three to one. Have you found 

mercy there, 
Grant it me here ; and see he smiles and goes, 
Gentle as in life. 

Alice — Madam, who goes ? King Philip ? 

Mary — No, Philip comes and goes, but never goes. 
Women, when I am dead. 
Open my heart, and there you'll find written 
Two names, Philip and Calais. Open his — 
So that he have one — • 
You will find Philip only, policy, policy — 
Ay, worse than that — not one hour true to me! 
Foul maggots crawling in a festered vice i 
Adulterous to the very heart of hell ' 
Hast thou a knife r 



QUEEN MARY. 77 

Alice — Ay, madam, but o' God's mercy- 
Mary — Fool, think'st thou I would peril mine own 
soul 
By slaughter of the body ? I could not, girl, 
JS'ot this way — callous with a constant stripe. 
Unendurable. Thy knife ! 

Alice — Take heed, take heed ! 
The blade is keen as death. 

Mary — This Philip shall not 
Stcre in upon me in my haggardness, 
Old, miserable, diseased — 

Come thou down 1 

[^Cuts out the picture and throws it downJ] 
Lie there ! [ Wails.'] O God, I have killed my Philip J 
Alice — No, madam ; you have but cut the canvas 
out. 
We can replace it. 

Mary — ^All is well, then ; rest, 
I will to rest ; he said I must have rest. 

\_Cries of" Elizabeth " in the dreef] 
A cry ! What's that ? Elizabeth ? Eevolt ? 
A new Northumberland ? Another Wyatt ? 
I'll fight it out on the threshold of the grave. 

Lady Clarence — Madam, your royal sister comes to 

see you. 
Mary — I will not see her. 
Who knows if Boleyn's daughter be my sister ? 
I will see none except the priest. 
Your arm. [To Lady Clarence.'] 
O Saint of Aragon, with that sweet worn smile 
Among thy patient wrinkles — 
Help me hence. \_Exeunt.'\ 

Tennyson. 



78 



COOL REASON. 



COOL REASON. 



EXTRACT FROM "THE RIVALS. 



CHARACTEES. 



Fag. 

Captain Absolute. 



Acres. 

Sir Anthony Absolttte. 



FAG — Sir, there is a gentleman below desires to see 
you — Shall I show him into the parlor? 

Capt. Absolute — Ay — you may. 

Acres — Well, I must be gone — • 

Capt. A. — Stay ; who is it, Fag? 

Fag — Your father, sir. 

Capt. A . — You puppy, why did n't you show him up 
directly ? [_ExU Fag.] 

Acres — You have business with Sir Anthony. — I ex- 
pect a message from Mrs. Malaprop, iat my lodgings. I 
have sent also to my dear friend, Sir Lucius O'Trigger. 
— Adieu, Jack, we must meet at night, when you shall 
give me a dozen bumpers to little Lydia. {^Exit.} 

Capt. A. — That I will, with all my heart. Now for a 
parental lecture — I hope he has heard nothing of the 
business that has brought me here — I wish the gout had 
held him fast in Devonshire, with all my soul ! 

Enter Sir Anthony. 
Sir, I am delighted to see you here, and looking so well ? 
— your sudden arrival at Bath made me apprehensive for 
your health. 

Sir Anthony — Very apprehensive, I dare say, Jack. — 
What, you are recruiting here, hey ? 

Capt. A. — Yes, sir ; I am on duty. 

Sir A. — Well, Jack, I am glad to see you, though I 
did not expect it ; for I was going to write to you on a 
little matter of business. Jack, I have been considering 



COOL REASON. 79 

that I grow old and infirm, and shall probably not 
trouble you long. 

Capt. A. — Pardon me, sir, I never saw you look more 
strong and hearty, and I ])ray fervently that you may 
continue so. 

Sir A. — I hope your prayers may be heard, with all my 
heart. Now, Jack, I am sensible that the iucome of 
your commission, and what I have hitherto allowed you, 
is but a small pittance for a lad of your spirit 

Capt A. — Sir, you are very good. 

Sir A. — And it is my wish, while yet I live, to have 
my boy make some figure in the world. — I have resolved, 
therefore, to fix you at once in a noble independence. 

Capt. A. — Sir, your kindness overpowers me. — Yet, 
sir, I presume you would not wish me to quit the army? 

Sir A. — Oh ! that shall be as your wife chooses. 

Capt. A. — My wife, sir! 

Sir A. — Ay, ay, settle that between you — settle that 
between you. 

Capt. A. — A wife, sir, did you say ? 

Sir A. — Ay, a wife — why, did not I mention her 
before ? 

Capt A. — Not a word of ber, sir. 

Sir A. — -Odd so ! I must n't forget her, though — ^Yes, 
Jack, the independence I was talking of, is by a mar- 
riage — the fortune is saddled with a wife— but I suppose 
that makes no difference ? 

Capt A. — Sir ! sir ! you amaze me ! 

Sir A. — Why, what 's the matter with the fool ? Jusi 
now you were all gratitude and duty. 

Capt A. — I was, sir, — you talked to me of independ- 
ence and a fortune, but not a word of a wife. 

Sir A. — Why — what difiTerence does that make? Odd:? 
life, sir ! if you have the estate, you must take it with the 
live stock on it, as it stands. 



80 



COOL REASON. 



Capt. A. — Pray, sir, who is the lady? 

Sir A. — What 's that to you, sir ? — Come, give me 
your promise to love, and to marry her directly. 

Capt. A. — Sure, sir, this is not very reasonable, to 
Bummon my affections for a lady I know nothing of! 

Sir A. — I am sure, sir, 'tis more unreasonable in yon 
to object to a lady you knoAv nothing of. 

Capt. A. — Yon must excuse me, sir, if I tell you, once 
for all, that in this point I cannot obey you. 

Sir A. — Harkye, Jack ! — I have heard you for some 
time with patience — I have been cool — quite cool ; but 
take care — you know I am compliance itself — when I am 
not thwarted ; no one more easily led — when I have my 
own way ; — but do n't put me in a frenzy. 

Capt. A. — Sir, I must repeat it — in this, I cannot obey 
you. 

Sir A. — Now, hang me if ever I call you Jack again 
while I live! 

Capt. A. — Nay, sir, but hear me. 

Sir A. — Sir, I won't hear a word — not a word ! not 
one word ! so give me your promise by a nod — and I 'II 
tell you what, Jack — I mean, you dog — if you don't — 

Capt. A. — What, sir, promise to link myself to some 
mass of ugliness ? 

Sir A. — Zounds I Sirrah ! the lady shall be as ugly as 
I choose: she shall have a hump on each shoulder; she 
shall be as crooked as the Crescent ; her one eye shall 
roll like the bull's in Cox's Museum^she shall have a 
skin like a mummy, and the beard of a Jew — she shall 
be all this, sirrah ! — yet I '11 make you ogle her all day, 
and sit up all night to write sonnets on her beauty. 

Capt. A. — This is reason and moderation indeed! 

Sir A. — None of your sneering, puppy ! no grinning, 
jackanapes ! 



COOL REASON. 81 

CapL A. — Indeed, sir. I never was in a worse humor 
for mirth in my life. 

Bir A. — 'T is false, sir ; I know you are laughing in 
your sleeve ; I know you'll grin when I am gone, sirrah! 

Capt. A. — Sir, I hope I know my duty better. 

Sir A. — None of your passion, sir! none of your vio- 
lence, if you please — it won't do with me, I promise you. 

Capt A. — Indeed, sir, I never was cooler in my life. 

Sir A. — 'T is a confounded lie ! — I know you are in a 
passion in your heart ; I know you are, you hypocritical 
young dog — but it won't do. 

Gapt. A. — N^ay, sir, upon my word — 

Sir A. — So, you will fly out ! Can't you be cool, like 
me ? — What good can passion do ? — Passion is of no ser- 
vice, you impudent, insolent, overbearing reprobate! — 
There, you sneer again! — don't provoke me! but you 
rely upon the mildness of my temper — you do, you dog! 
you play upon the meekness of my disposition ! Yet 
take care — the patience of a saint may be overcome at 
last I — But mark ! — I give you six hours and a half to 
consider of this : if you then agree, without any condi- 
tion, to do everything on earth that I choose, why — con- 
found you, I may in time forgive you — If not, zounds if 
don't enter the same hemisphere with me ! do n't dare to 
breathe the same air, or use the same light with me, but 
get an atmosphere and a sun of your own ! I'll strip 
you of your commission ; I '11 lodge a five-and-threepence 
in the hands of trustees, and you shall live on the interest. 
I'll disown you, I '11 disinherit you, I '11 unget you ! and 
hang you if ever I call you Jack again ! \_Exit.'\ 

Capt A, — Mild, gentle, considerate father! I kiss 
your hands. — Sheridan. 



82 MARY STUART. 

MAKY STUART. 
From Schiller. Act III., Scene II. 



CHAEACTERS. 

Mart — Queen of Scotland. I Eobert — Earl of Leicester. 

Elizabeth — Queen of England. \ Talbot — A friend of Mary. 

Enter Mary and Talbot. 

MARY — Talbot, Elizabeth will soon be here. I can- 
not see her. Preserve me from this hateful in- 
terview. 

Talbot — Reflect a while. Recall thy courage. The 
moment is come upon which everything depends. In- 
cline thyself; submit to the necessity of the moment 
She is the stronger. Thou must bend before her. 

Mary — Before her? I cannot! 

Tal. — Thou must do so. Speak to her humbly; in- 
voke the greatness of her generous heart; dwell not too 
much upon thy rights. But see first how she bears her 
self towards thee. I myself did witness her emotion on 
reading thy letter. The tears stood in her eyes. Her 
heart, 'tis sure, is not a stranger to compassion; there- 
fore place more confidence in her, and prepare thyself 
for her reception. 

Mary — (^Taking his hand) — Thou wert ever my faithful 
friend. Oh, that I had always remained beneath thy 
kind guardianship, Talbot ! Their care of me has indeed 
been harsh. Who attends her ? 

Tal. — Leicester. You need not fear him ; the earl 
doth not seek thy fall. Behold, the queen approaches. 

lEetires,'] 
Enter Elizabeth and Leicester. 

Mary — (Aside) — O heavens! Protect me I her features 
say she has no heart I 



MARY STUART. 33 

Elizabeth — {To Leicester) — Who is this woman? 
[Feigning surprise.') Kobert, who has dared to — 

Lei. — Be not angry, queen, and since heaven has 
lither directed thee, suffer pity to triumph in thy noble 
leart. 

Tal. — {Advancing) — Deign, royal lady, to cast a look 
)f compassion on the unhappy woman who prostrates 
lerself at thy feet. 

[Mary, having attempted to approach Elizabeth, stops 
short, overcome by repugnance, her gestures indicating 
internal struggle.'] 

Eliz. — {Haughtily) — Sirs, which of you spoke of hu- 
mility and submission? I see nothing but a proud lady, 
whom misfortune has not succeeded in subduing. 

Mary — {Aside) — I will undergo even this last degree 
of ignominy. My soul discards its noble but, alas ! 
impotent pride. I will seek to forget who I am, what I 
have suffered, and will humble myself before her who 
has caused my disgrace. {Turns to Elizabeth.) 
Heaven, O sister, has declared itself on thy side, and 
has graced thy happy head with the crown of victory. 
{Kneeling.) I worship the Deity who hath rendered thee 
so powerful. Show thyself noble in thy triumph, and 
leave me not overwhelmed by shame ! Open thy arms, 
extend in mercy to me thy royal hand, and raise me 
from my fearful fall. 

Eliz. — {Drawing back) — Thy place, Stuart, is there, 
and I shall ever raise my hands in gratitude to heaven 
that it has not willed that I should kneel at thy feet, as 
thou now crouchest in the dust at mine. 

Mary — ( 'With great emotion) — Think of the vicissitudes 
of all things human ! There is a Deity above who pun- 
isheth pride. Respect the Providence who now doth 



MARY STTJART. 



prostrate me at thy feet. Do not show th^/self msensiblu 
and pitiless as the rock, to which tlie drowning man, 
with failing breath and outstretched arms, doth cling. 
My life, my entire destiny, depend upon my words and 
the power of my tears. Inspire my heart, teach me to 
move, to touch thine own. Thou turnest such icy looks 
upon me, that my soul doth sink within me, my grief 
parches my lips, and a cold shudder renders my entreaties 
mute. lEises.'] 

Eliz. — {Coldly) — What wouldst thou say to me? thou 
didst seek converse with me. Forgetting that I am an 
outraged sovereign, I honor thee with my royal presence. 
'Tis in obedience to a generous impulse that I incur the 
reproach of having sacrificed my dignity. 

Mary — How can I express myself? how shall I so 
choose every word that it may penetrate, without irritat- 
ing, thy heart ? God of mercy ! aid my lips, and banish 
from them whatever may offend m-y sister ! I cannot re- 
late to thee my woes without appearing to accuse thee, 
and this is not my wish. Towards me thou hast been 
neither merciful nor just. I am thine equal, and yet 
thou hast made me a prisoner, a suppliant, and a fugi- 
tive. I turned to thee for aid, and thou, trampling on 
the rights of nations and of hospitality, hast immured me 
in a living tomb ! Thou hast abandoned me to the most 
shameful need, and finally exposed me to the ignominy 
of a trial ! But, no more of the past ; we are now face 
to face. Display the goodness of thy heart ; tell me the 
crimes of which I am accused ! Wherefore didst thou 
not grant me this friendly audience when I so eagerly 
desired it? Years of misery would have been spared i 
me, and this painful interview would not have occurred 
in this abode of gloom and horror. ' 

Eliz- — Accuse not fate, but thine own wayward soul 



MAEY STUART. 85 

and the unreasonable ambition of thy house. There was 
no quarrel between us until thy most worthy ally inspired 
thee with the mad and rash desire to claim for thyself 
the royal titles and my throne ! Not satisfied with thisj 
he then urged thee to make war against me, to threaten 
my crown and my life. Amidst the peace which reigned 
in my dominions, he fraudulently excited my subjects to 
revolt. But heaven doth protect me, and the attempt 
was abandoned in despair. The blow was aimed at my 
head, but 't is on thine that it will fall. 

Mary — I am in the hand of my God, but thou wilt 
not exceed thy power by committing a deed so atrocious ? 

Eliz. — What could prevent me? Thy kinsman has 
shown raonarchs how to make peace with their enemies ! 
Who would be surety for thee if, imprudently, I were to 
release thee? How can I rely on thy pledged faith? 
Nought but my power renders me secure. No! there 
can be no friendship with a race of vipers. 

Mary — Are these thy dark suspicions ? To thine eyes, 
then, I have ever seemed a stranger and an enemy. If 
thou hadst but recognized me as heiress to thy throne— 
as is my lawful right — love, friendship, would have made 
me thy friend — thy sister. 

Eliz. — What affection hast thou that is not feigned? 
I declare thee heiress to my throne ! Insidious treachery ! 
In order, forsooth, to overturn the state, and — wily 
Armida that thou art — entrap within thy snares all the 
youthful spirits of my kingdom, so that during my own 
lifetime all eyes would turn towards thee — the new con« 
stellation ! 

Mary — Reign on in peace ! I renounce all right to thy 
sceptre. The wings of my ambition have long drooped, 
and greatness has no longer charms for me. 'Tis thou 
who hast it all ; I am now only 4he shade of Mary 



eb MARY STUART. 

Stuart ! My pristine ardor has been subdued by the ig- 
nominy of my chains. Thou hast nipped my existence 
iu the bud. But pronounce those magnanimous word^i 
for which thou cam'st hither; for I will not believe that 
thou art come to enjoy the base delight of insulting thy 
victim ! Pronounce the words so longed for, and say, 
"Mary, thou art free ! Till now thou hast known only 
niy power; now know my greatness." Woe to thee, 
phouldst thou not depart from me propitious, beneficent, 
like an invoked Deity. O sister ! not for all England, 
not for all the lands the vast ocean embraces, would I 
present myself to thee with the inexorable aspect with 
which thou now regardest me. 

Eliz. — At length thou confessest thyself vanquished! 
Hast thou emptied thy quiver of the artifices it con- 
tained ? Hast thou no more assassins? Does there not 
remain to thee one single hero to undertake in thy de- 
fence the duties of knight-errant? Gone, Mary, gone 
forever are those days. Thou canst no longer seduce a 
follower of mine ; other causes now inflame menV 
hearts. In vain didst thou seek a fourth husband among 
my English subjects ; they knew too well that thou mur- 
derest thy husbands, as thou dost thy lovers. 

Mary — (^Shuddering) — O heavens ! sister ! Grant me 
resignation. 

Eliz. — ( To Leicester, with contempt) — Earl, are these 
the boasted features, on which no mortal eye could gaze 
with safety ? Is this the beauty to which no other 
woman's could be compared ? In sooth, the reputation 
appears to have been easily won. To be thus celebrated 
M? the reigning beauty of the universe seems merely to 
infer that she has been universal in the distribution of 
her favors. 

Mary — Ah, 't is too much ! 



MARY STUART. 87 

Eliz. — ( With a smile of satisfaction) — Now thou showest 
thyself in thine own form. Till now thou hast worn a mask. 

Mary — ( With dignified pride) — They were mere human 
errors that overcame my youth. My grandeur dazzled 
me. I have nought to conceal, nor deny my faults; my 
pride has ever disdained the base artifices of vile in- 
triguers. The worst I ever did is known, and I may 
boast myself far better than my reputation. But woe 
to thee, thou malignant hypocrite, if thou ever lettest fall 
the mantle beneath which thou concealest thy shameless 
amours! Thou, the daughter of Anne Boleyn, hast not 
inherited virtue ! The causes that brought thy sinful 
mother to the block are known to all. 

Tal. — (Stepping between them) — Is this, O Mary, thine 
endurance ? Is this thy humility ? 

3Iary — Endurance ? I have endured all that a mortal 
heart can bear. Hence, abject humility ! Insulted pa- 
tience, get ye from my heart! And thou, my long pent- 
up indignation, break thy bonds, and burst forth from 
thy lair ! Oh, Thou gavest to the angry serpent his 
deadly glance ; arm my tongue with poisonous stings. 

Tal. — (To Elizabeth) — Forgive the angry transports 
which thou hast thyself provoked. 

Lei. — (^Inducing Elizabeth to tvithdraw) — Hear not 
the ravings of a distracted woman. Leave this ill — 

Mary — The throne of England is profaned by a base- 
born — the British nation is duped by a vile pretender I 
If right did prevail, thou wouldst be grovelling at my 
feet, for 'tis I who am thy sovereign. (Elizabeth re- 
tires. Leicester and Talbot follow.) She departs, 
burning with rage, and with bitterness of death at heart 
Kow happy I am I I have degraded her in Leicester'^ 
presence. At last ! at last ! After long years of insult 
and contumely, I have at least enjoyed a season of tri- 
umph and revenge. — Adapted by J. Howard Gore. 



88 SAtiACEN BKOtliERS. 

SARACEN BROTHERS. 



ATTENDANT — A stranger craves admittance to your 
Highness. 

Saladin — Wlience comes he ? 

Attendant — That I know not. 
Enveloped with a vestment of strange form, 
His countenance is hidden ; but his step, 
His lofty port, his voice in vain disguised, 
Proclaim, — if that I dare pronounce it, — 

Saladin — Whom ? 

Attendant — Thy royal brother ! 

Saladin — Bring him instantly. \_Exit attendant'] 

Now, with his specious, smooth, persuasive tongue. 
Fraught with some wily subterfuge, he thinks 
To dissipate my anger. He shall die ! 

\_Enter attendant and Malek Adhel.'] 
Leave us together. [Exit attendant.'] \_Aside.] I should 

know that form. 
Now summon all thy fortitude, my soul. 
Nor, though thy blood cry for him, spare the guilty! 
\_Aloud.] Well, stranger, speak ; but first unveil thyself, 
For Saladin must view the form that fronts him. 

Maleh Adhel — Behold it, then ! 

Saladin — I see a traitor's visage. 

Maleh Adhel — A brother's ! 

Saladin — No ! 
Saladin owns no kindred with a villain. 

Malek Adhel — O, patience. Heaven ! Had any tongue 
but thine 
Uttered that word, it ne'er should speak anothei*. 

Saladin — And why not now? Can this heart be more 
pierced 
By Malek Adhel's sword than by his deeds? 



SARACEN BROTHERS. b\) 

thou hast made a desert of this bosom I 
For open candor, planted sly disguise ; 
For confidence, suspicion ; and the glow 
Of generous friendship, tenderness and love, 
Forever bauished ! Whither can I turn, 
When he, by blood, by gratitude, by faith, 
By every tie, bound to support, forsakes me ? 
Who, who can stand, when Malek Adhel falls ? 
Henceforth I turn me from the sweets of love, 
The smiles of friendship ; and this glorious world. 
In which all find some heart to rest upon, 

Shall be to Saladin a cheerless void,— 
His brother has betrayed him ! 
Malek Adhel — Thou art softened ; 

1 am thy brother, then ; but late thou saidst,— 
My tongue can never utter the base title ! 

Saladin — Was it traitor ? True ! 
Thou hast betrayed me in my fondest hopes ! 
"Villain ? 'Tis just ; the title is appropriate ! 
Dissembler ? 'T is not written in thy face ; 
No, nor imprinted on that specious brow ; 
But on this breaking heart the name is stamped, 
Forever stamped with that of Malek Adhel ! 
Thinkest thou I 'm softened ? By Mohammed ! these hands 
Should crush these aching eye-balls, ere a tear 
Fall from them at thy fate ! O monster, monsler I 
The brute that tears the infant from its nurse 
Is excellent to thee ; for in his form 
The impulse of his nature may be read ; 
But thou, so beautiful, so proud, so noble, 
O what a wretch art thou ! O ! can a term 
In all the various tongues of man be found 
To match thv infamy ? 



90 SARA.CEN BROTHERS. 

Maleh Adhel — Go on ! go on ! 
Tis but a littlo time to hear thee, Saladin ; 
And, burstiDg at thy feet, this heart will prove 
Its penitence, at least. 

Saladin — That were an end 
Too noble for a traitor ! The bowstring is 
A more appropriate finish ! Thou shalt die ! 

Maleh Adhel — And death were welcome at another's 
mandate ! 
What, what have I to live for ? Be it so, 
If that, in all thy armies, can be found 
An executing hand. 

Saladin — O, doubt it not ! 
They 're eager for the office. Perfidy, 
So black as thine, effaces from their minds 
All memory of thy former excellence. 

Maleh Adhel — Defer not, then, their wishes. Saladin, 
If e'er this form was joyful to thy sight, 
This voice seemed grateful to thine ear, accede 
To my last prayer : — O, lengthen not this scene. 
To which the agonies of death were pleasing I 
Let me die speedily ! 

Saladin — This very hour! 
[^s^6?e] — For, O, the more I look upon that face, 
The more I hear the accents of that voice, 
The monarch softens, and the judge is lost 
In all the brother's weakness; yet such guilt, — 
Such vile ingratitude, — it calls for veugeauce ; 
And vengeance it shall have ! What, ho ! who waits there f 

\_Enter attendant.'] 

Attendant — Did your highness call ? 

Saladin — Assemble quickly 
My forces in the court. Tell them they com© 
To view the death of yonder bosom traitor. 



SARACEN BROTHERS. 91 

And, bid them mark, that he who will not spare 

His brother when he errs, expects obedience, 

Silent obedience, from his followers. lExit attendant.'] 

Mcdek Adhel — Now, Saladin, 
The word is given ; I have nothing more 
To fear from thee, my brother. I am not 
About to crave a miserable life. 
Without thy love, thy honor, thy esteem, 
Life were a burden to me. Think not, either, 
The justness of thy sentence I would question. 
But one request now trembles on my tongue, 
One wish still clinging round the heart ; which soon 
Not even that shall torture. Will it, then, 
Thinkest thou, thy slumbers render quieter. 
Thy waking thoughts more pleasing, to reflect. 
That when thy voice had doomed a brother's death. 
The last request which e'er w^as his to utter 
Thy harshness m.ade him carry to the grave ? 

Saladin — Speak, then ; but ask thyself if thou hast 
reason 
To look for much indulgence here. 

Maleh Adhel — I have not ! 
Yet will I ask for it. We part forever ; 
This is our last farewell ; the king is satisfied ; 
The judge has spoke the irrevocable sentence. 
None sees, none hears, save that Omniscient Power, 
Which, trust me, will not frown to look upon 
Two brothers part like such. When, in the face 
Of forces once my own, I 'm led to death, 
Then be thine eye unmoistened ; let thy voice 
Then speak my doom untrembling ; then. 
Unmoved, behold this stiff and blackened corse. 
But now I ask, — nay, turn not, Saladin ! — 
1 ask one single pressure of thy hand ; 



9^ SAKACEN Beo1:hers. 

From that stern eye, one solitary tear,— 

torturing recollection ! — one kind word 

From the loved tongue which once breathed naught but 

kindness. 
Still silent ? Brother ! friend ! beloved companion 
Of all my youthful sports! — are they forgotten? — 
Strike me mth deafness, make me blind, O Heaven ! 
Let me not see this unforgiving man 
Smile at my agonies ! nor hear that voice 
Pronounce my doom, which would not say one word. 
One little word, whose cherished memory 
Would soothe the struggles of departing life ! 
Yet, yet thou wilt ! O, turn thee, Saladin ! 
Look on my face, — thou canst not spurn me then; 
Look on the once-loved face of Malek Adhel 
For the last time, and call him — 

Saladin — {Seizing his hand) — Brother ! brother ! 

Maleh Adhel — {Breaking away) — Now call thy fol- 
lowers ; 
Death has not now 
A single pang in store. Proceed ! I 'm ready. 

Saladin — O, art thou ready to forgive, my brother? 
To pardon him who found one single error, 
One little failing, 'mid a splendid throng 
Of glorious qualities — 

Maleh Adhel — O, stay thee, Sakdin ! 

1 did not ask for life — I only wished 
To carry thy forgiveness to the grave. 
No, Emperor, the loss of Cesarea 

Cries loudly for the blood of Malek Adhel, 
Thy soldiers, too, demand that he who lost 
What cost them many a weary hour to gain. 
Should expiate his offences with his life. 



SAKACEN BROTHERS. 93 

Lo ! even now they crowd to view my death, 

Thy just impartiality. I go, 

Pleased by my fate to add one other leaf 

To thy proud wreath of glory. [^Going.'] 

Saladln — Thou shalt not. \_Enter attendant'] 

Attendant — My lord, the troops assembled by your order 
Tumultuous throng the courts. The prince's death 
Not one of them but vows he will not suffer. 
The mutes have fled ; the very guards rebel, 
Nor think I, in this city's spacious round, 
Can e'er be found a hand to do the office. 

Maleh Adhel — O faithful friends! — (To aUendan€) — 
Thine shalt. 

Attendant — Mine? Never! 
The other first shall lop it from the body. 

Saladin — They teach the Emperor his duty well. 
Tell them he thanks them for it. Tell them, too, 
That ere their opposition reached our ears, 
Saladin had forgiven Malek Adhel. 

Attendant — O joyful news! 
I haste to gladden many a gallant heart. 
And dry the tear on many a hardy cheek. 
Unused to such a visitor. [^Exit.'] 

Saladin — These men, the meanest in society. 
The outcasts of the eailh, — by war, by nature, 
Hardened, and rendered callous, — these who claim 
No kindred with thee, — who have never heard 
The acceuts of affection from thy lips, — • 

0, these can cast aside their vowed allegiance, 
Throw off their long obedience, risk their lives, 
To save thee from destruction. While I, 

1, who can not, in all my memory. 

Call back one danger which thou hast not shared. 
One day of grief, one night of revelry. 
Which thy resistless kindness hath not soothed, 



94 THE BKIDAL WINE CUP. 

Or thy gay smile and converse rendered sweeter, — 

I, who have thrice in the ensanguined field, 

When death seemed certain, only uttered — "Brother!*^ 

And seen that form, like lightning, rush between 

Saladin and his foes, and that brave breast 

Dauntless exposed to many a furious blow 

Intended for my own, — I could forget 

That 't was to thee I owed the very breath 

AVhich sentenced thee to perish ! O, 't is shameful ! 

Thou canst not pardon me ! 

Malek Adliel — By these tears, I can ! 
O brother ! from this very hour, a new, 
A glorious life commences ! I am all thine ! 
Again the day of gladness or of a^nguish 
Shall Malek Adhel share ; and oft again 
May this sword fence thee in the bloody field. 
Henceforth, Saladin, 
My heart, my soul, my sword, are thine forever ! 

THE BRIDAL WINE-CUR 



Scene — Parlor, with ivedding party, consisting of Judge 
Otis; Maeion, his daughter, the bride; Harry 
Wood, the bridegroom ; a few relatives and friends ; 
all gathered around the center table, on ivhich are decan- 
ters and wine-glasses. 

ONE OF THE COMPANY— Let us drink the health 
of the newly-wedded pair. ( Turns to Harry.') Shall it 
be in wine? {turns to Marion,) or in sparkling cold water? 
Harry — Pledge in wine, if it be the choice of the com' 
pany. 

Several voices — Pledge in wine, to be sure. 
Marion — ( With great earnestness.) — O no ! Harry ; not 
with wine, I pray you. 
Judge Otis — Yes, Marion, ray daughter; lay aside 



THE BRIDAL WINE-CUP. 95 

your foolish prejudices for this once; the company expect 
it, and you should not so seriously infringe upon the rules 
of etiquette. In your own house you may act as you 
please; but in mine, which you are about to leave, for 
this once please me, by complying with my wishes in 
this matter. 

lA glass of wine is handed to Marion, whic/i she 
slowly and reluctantly raises to her lips, but just 
as it reaches them she exclaims, excitedly, holding 
out the glass at arm's length, and staring at it,'] 

Marion — Oh ! how terrible ! 

Several voices — (^Eagerly) — What is it ? What do you 
see? 

Marion — Wait — wait, and I will tell you. I see 
(jpointing to the glass with her finger) a sight that beggars 
all description ; and yet listen, and I will paint it for you, 
if I can. It is a lonely spot ; tall mountains, crowned 
with verdure, rise in awful sublimity around ; a river 
runs through, and bright flowers in wild profusion grow 
to the water's edge. There is a thick, Avarm mist, that 
the sun vainly seeks to pierce ; trees, lofty and beautiful, 
wave to the airy motion of the birds ; and beneath them 
a group of Indians gather. They move to and fro with 
something like sorrow upon their dark brows ; for in 
their midst lies a manly form, whose cheek is deathly 
pale, and whose eye is wild with the fitful fire of fever. 
One of his own white race stands, or rather kneels, beside 
him, pillowing the poor sufiferer's head upon his breast 
with all a brother's tenderness. Look ! (s/ie speaks with 
reneived energy,) how he starts up, throws the damp curls 
back from his high and noble brow, and clasps his hands 
in agony of despair ; hear his terrible shrieks for life ; 
' mark how he clutches at the form of his companion. 



96 THE BRIDAL WINE-CUP. ^^^Kl 



imploring to be saved from despair and death, 
what a terrible scene! Genius in ruins, pleading for 
that which can never be regained when once lost. Hear 
him call piteously his father's name ; see him clutch his 
fingers as he shrieks for his sister — his only sister, the 
twin of his soul — now weeping for him in his distant 
home! See! his hands are lifted to heaven ; he prays — 
how wildly! — for mercy, while the hot fever rushes 
through his veins. The friend beside him is weeping in 
despair; and the awe-stricken sons of the forest move 
silently away, leaving the living and the dying alone 
together. (The judge, overcome with emotion, falls into 
a chair, luhile the rest of the company seem awe-struck, 
as Marion's voice grows softer and more sorrowful in its 
tones, yet remains distinct and clear?) It is evening now ; 
the great, w^hite moon is coming up, and her beams fall 
gently upon his forehead. He moves not ; for his eyes 
are set in their socket, and their once piercing glance is 
dim. In vain his companion whispers the name of 
father and sister; death is there to dull the pulse, to 
dim the eye, and to deafen the ear. Death ! stern, terri- 
ble, and with no soft hand, no gentle voice, to soothe his 
fevered brow, and calm his troubled soul and bid it hope 
in God. (Harry sits down and covers his face with his 
hands.) Death overtook him thus ; and there, in the 
midst of the mountain forest, surrounded by Indian 
tribes, they scooped him a grave in the sand ; and with- 
out a shroud or coffin, prayer or hymn, they laid him 
down in the damp earth to his final slumber. Thus 
died and was buried the only son of a proud father ; the 
only, idolized brother of a fond sister.. There he sleeps 
to-day, undisturbed, in that distant land, with no stone 
to mark the spot. There he lies — my father's son — MY 
DW^N TWIN BROTHER ! A victim to this (holds up the 



I 



THE BRIDAL WINE-CUP. 1^7 

glass before the company) deadly, damning poisoii I 
Father ! (turning to the judge,) father, shall I drink it 
now ? 

Judge Otis — {Raising his bowed head and speaking 
with faltering voice) — No, no, my child ! in God's name, 
cast it away. 

Marion — (Letting her glass fall and dash to pieces)— 
Let no friend who loves me hereafter tempt me to peril 
my soul for wine. Not firmer the everlasting hills than 
my resolve, God helping me, nfever to touch or taste that 
terrible poison. And he, (turning to Harry,) to whom I 
have this night given my heart and hand, who watched 
over my brother's dying form in that last sad hour, and 
buried the poor wanderer there by the river, in that land 
of goldj will, I trust, sustain me in this resolve. Will 
you not, (offers him her hand, which he takes,) my 
husband ? 

Harry — With the blessing of Heaven upon my efforts, 
I will; and I thank you, beyond expression, for the 
solemn lesson you have taught us all on this occasion. 

Judge Otis — God bless you, (taking Marion and Harry 
by the hand, and speaking with deep emotion,) my chil- 
dren ; and may I, too, have grace given me to help you 
in your efforts to keep this noble resolve. 

One of the company — Let us honor the firmness and 
nobleness of principle of the fair bride, by drinking 
her health in pure, sparkling water, the only beverage 
which the great Creator of the Universe gave to the 
newly-wedded pair in the beautiful Garden of Eden. 
Dramatized by Sidney Herbert. 



PRINCE HENEY AND FALSTAFF. 



PRINCE HENRY AND FALSTAFF, 

KING HENRY IV., ACT II, SCENE IV. 



Prince Henry and Poins, in a back room, in a tavern-. 
Enter Falstaff, Gadshill, Bardolph, and Peto. 

POINS — Welcome, Jack. Where hast thou been ? 
Falstaff— A plague of all cowards, I say, and a 
vengeance too! marry and amen! Give me a cup of 
sack, boy. Ere I lead this life long, I'll sew nether* 
socks, and mend them, and foot them too. A plague of 
all cowards ! Give me a cup of sack, rogue. Is there 
no virtue extant? [He drinks, and then continues.'] You 
rogue, here's lime in this sack: there's nothing but 
roguery to be found in villanous man : yet a coward is 
worse than a cup of sack, with lime in it ; a villanous 
coward. Go thy ways, old Jack ; die when thou wilt : if 
manhood, good manhood, be not forgot upon the face of 
the earth, then am I a shotten herring. There live not 
three good men unhanged, in England ; and one of them 
is fat and grows old ; a bad world, I say ! I would I 
were a weaver ; I could sing psalms, or any thing ; a 
plague of all cowards, I say still. 

Prince Henry — How now, wool-sack ? What mutter 
you? 

Fal. — Thou art a king's son. Now, if I do not beat 
thee out of thy kingdom with a dagger of lath, and drive 



PRINCE HENRY AND FALSTAFFo 99 

all thy subjects afore thee like a flock of wild geese, I '11 
never wear hair ou my face more. You prince of Wales ! 

P. Henry — Why, you base-born clog I What's the 
matter ? 

Fed. — Are you not a coward ? Answer me to that ; and 
Poins there ? 

Poins — Zounds, ye fat paunch, an ye call me coward, 
I'll stab thee. 

Fal. — I call thee coward ? I '11 see thee hanged ere I 
call thee coward : but I would give a thousand pounds I 
could run as fast as thou canst. You are straight enough 
in the shoulders, you care not who sees your back : call 
you that backing of your friends? A plague upon such 
backing! Give me them that will face me. Give me a 
cup of sack. I am rogue, if I have drunk to-day. 

P. Henry — O villain ! thy lip»s are scarce wiped, since 
thou drank'st last. 

Fal. — All 's one for that. A plague of all coward^ 
still say I. 

P. ire?i?-2/— What*s the matter? 

Fal — What 's the matter ! There be four of us here 
have ta'en a thousand jwunds this morning. 

P. Henry— ysn\QYQ is it, Jack ? Where is it ? 

Fal. — Where is it? Taken from us it is; a hundred 
upon poor four of us. 

P. Henry — What ! a hundred, man ? 

Fal. — I am a rogue, if I were not at half sword with a 
dozen of them, for two hours together. I have 'scaped by 
miracle. I am eight times thrust through the doublet; 
four, through the hose; my buckler cut through and 
through ; my sword hacked like a hand-saw ; look here : 
[shows his sivordl. I never dealt better since I was a man ; 
all would not do. A plague of all cowards ! Let tliera 
1 speak [pointing to Gadshill, Bardolph and^ Peto]; 



100 PRINCE HENRY AND FALSTAFF. 

if they speak more or less than truth, they are villains 

and the sons of darkness. 

P. Henry — Speak, sirs ; how was it? 

Gadshill — We four set upon some dozen — 

Fal. — Sixteen, at least, my lord. 

Gad. — And bound them. 

Peto — No, no, they were not bound. 

Fal. — You rogue, they were bound, every man of thera • 
«rr I am a Jew, else — an Ebrew Jew. 

Gad. — As we were sharing, some six or seven fresh 
men set upon us — 

Fal. — And unbound the rest; and then come in the 
Other. 

P. Hejiry — AVhat! fought ye with them all? 

Fal. — All ? I know not what ye call all ; but if I 
fought not with fifty of them, I am a bunch of radish : 
if there were not two or three and fifty upon poor old 
Jack, then I am no two-legged creature. 

P. Henry — Pray heaven, you have not murdered some 
of them. 

Fal. — Nay, that 's past praying for ; for I have pep- 
pered two of them; two I am sure 'I have paid; two 
rogues in buckram suits. I tell thee what, Hal, if I tell 
thee a lie, spit in my face, and call me a hoise. Thou 
knowest ray old ward \Jie draws his sivord, and stands 
as if about to fighf] ; here I lay, and thus I bore my point. 
Four rogues in buckram let drive at me — 

P. Henry — What ! four ? Thou saidst but two even 
now. 

-Fa^.— Four, Hal ; I told thee four. 

Poins — Ay, ay, he said four. 

Fal. — These four came all a-front, and mainly thrust 
at me. I made no more ado, but took all their seven 
points on my target, thus- 



PRINCE HENRY AND PALSTAFF. 101 

P. Henry — Seven ? Why, there were hut four, even 
now. 

Fal. — In buckram? 

Poins — Ay, four in buckram suits. 

Fal. — Seven, by these hilts, or I am a villain else. 

P. Henry — Pr'ythee, let him alone, we shall have more 
anon. 

Fal. — Dost thou hear me, Hal ? 

P. Henry — Ay, and mark thee, too. Jack. 

Fal. — Do so, for it is worth the listening to. These 
nine men in buckram, that I told thee of — 

P. Henry — So, two more already. 

Fal. — Their points being broken, began to give me 
ground ; but I follo>Yed me close, came in foot and hand ; 
and, with a thought, seven of the eleven I paid. 

P. Henry — O, monstrous ! eleven buckram men grown 
out of two ! 

Fal. — But three knaves, in Kendal green, came at my 
back, and let drive at me ; for it was so dark, Hal, that 
thou couldst not see thy hand. 

P. Henry — These lies are like the father of them ; gross 
as a mountain, open, palpable. Why, thou clay-brained, 
thou knotty-pated fool ; thou greasy tallow-keech — 

i^'a^.— What! Art thou mad? Art thou mad? I3 
not the truth the truth ? 

P. Henry — Why, how couldst thou know these men 
in Kendal green, when it was so dark thou couldst not 
see thy hand ? Come, tell us your reason ; What sayst 
thou to this ? 

Pohu — Come, your reason, Jack ; your reason. 

Fal. — What, upon compulsion? No, were I at the 
strappado, or all the racks in the world, I w^ould not tell 
you on compulsion. Give you a reason on compulsion ? 
If reasons were as plenty as blackberries, I would give 
no man a reason on compulsion. 



102 PRINCE HENRY AND FALSTAFI'. 

P. Henry — I '11 no longer be guilty of this sin : thia 
sanguine coward, this bed-presser, this horse-back-breaker, 
this huge hill of flesh — 

Fal. — Away! you starveling, you eel-skin, you dried 
neat's tongue, you stock-fish — O for breath to utter what 
is like thee ! — you tailor's yard, you sheath, you bow-case, 
you — 

P. Henry — Well, breathe a while, and then to ^t again ; 
and when thou hast tired thyself in base comparisons, 
hear me speak but this. 

Poins — Mark, Jack. 

P. Henry — We tAvo, saw you four, set on four ; you 
bound them, and were masters of their wealth. Mark 
now, how plain a tale shall put you down. Then did we 
two, set on you four, and with a word out -faced you frciiu 
your prize, and have it ; yea, and can show it to you, 
here in the house: and, Falstaff, you carried yourself 
away as nimbly, with as quick dexterity, and roared for 
mercy, and still ran and roared, as ever 1 heard a calf. 
What a slave art thou, to hack thy sword as thou hast 
done, and then say it was in fight. What trick, what 
device, what starting-hole canst thou now find out to hide 
thee from this open and apparent shame ? 

Poins — Come, let 's hear, Jack. What trick hast thou 
now? 

Fal. — Why, I knew ye, as well as he that made ye. 
Why, hear ye, my masters : was it for me to kill the heir- 
apparent? Should I turn upon the true prince? Why, 
thou knowest, I am as valiant as Hercules ; but beware 
instinct ; the lion will not touch the true prince ; instinct 
is a great matter ; T was a coward on instinct. I shall 
think the better of myself and thee, during my life ; 1 for 
a valiant lion, and thou for a true priuce. But, lads, I 
aw glad you have the money. Hostess, clap to the doors. 



PAETHENIA. 103 

Watch to-night, pray to-morrow. Gallants, lads, boys, 
hearts of gold ; all the titles of good fellowship come to 
you ! What, shall we be merry ? Shall we have a play 
extempore ? 

P. Henry — Content; and the argument shall be thy 
running away. 

Fal. — Ah ! no more of that, Hal, an thou lovest me. 

Shakespeare. 



PARTHENIA. 



The father of the beautiful Qreeh maiden, Parthenia, 
was taken prisoner by the barbarous Alemanni. She 
leaves her home and goes to the mountains to accomplish his 
rescue; she succeeds in persuading the barbarian chief, 
Ingomar, to take her as hostage, and cdlow him to return 
home and work for her ransom. She promises that she luill 
work for them, and never give ivay to ivoman^s lueakness. 
The following is a scene succeeding the departure of 
Myrom, the father o/Parthenia. 

Parthenia stands with hands before her face, sobbing. 
Ingomar comes forward. 

INGOMAR— Ha ! do I see right ?— You weep ! Is that 
the hapj^y temper that you boast ? 
Parthenia — Oh, I shall never see him more ! 
Ing. — What! have we for a silly old man got now 
a foolish, timid, weeping girl ? I have had enough of 
tears. 

Par. — Enough, indeed, since you but mock them. 1 
will not — no ! I'll weep no more ! 

[She dries her eyes and retires to the background.'] 
Ing. — That 's good ; — come, that looks well. She is a 



104 PARTHEKIA. 

brave girl ! — slie rules herself, and, if she keep her word, 
we have made a good exchange. I '11 weep no more ! — • 
aha ! I like the girl, and if — Ho ! Avhither goest thou ? 

[To Parthenia, ivho is going off iv'ith hvo goblets.'] 

Par. — Where should I go ? — to yonder brook to cleanse 
the cups. 

Ing. — No ! stay and talk to me. 

Par. — I have duties to perform. [^Going,'] 

Ing. — Stay — I command you, slave ! 

Par. — I am no slave ! — your hostage, but no slave. I 
go to cleanse the cups. \_Exit.'] 

Ing. — Ho! here's a self-willed thing — here's a spirits 
{mimicking her). I will not, I am no slave ! I have 
duties to perform ! Take me for hostage ! and she flung 
back her head, as though she brought with her a ton of 
gold. I'll weep no more! — aha! an impudent thing; 
she pleases me ! I love to be opposed ; I love my horse 
when he rears, my dogs when they snarl ; the mountain- 
torrent, and the sea when it flings its foam up to the 
stars; — such things as this fill me with life and joy. 
Tame indolence is living death ! — the battle of the strong 
alone is life ! 

Parthenia returns loith the cups and a bunch of field- 
flowers; she seats herself on a rock. Ingomar approaches 

her. 

Ing. — Ah ! she is here again. What art thou making 
there ? 

Par. — I ? — garlands. 

Ing. — Garlands? — (^Aside) — It seems to me as I had 
seen her before in a dream ! How is it ? — Ah ! my 
brother I — ^he who died a child — yes, that is it — my little 
Folko. She has his dark brown hair, his sparkliDg eye : 
even the voice seems known to me again. I '11 not to 



PARTHENIA. 105 

sleep, I '11 talk to her : — ( To Parthenia) — These you call 
garlands, and wherefore do you weave them ? 

Par. — For these cups. 

Ing. — How ? 

Par. — Is it not with you a custom ? Wth us, at home, 
"we love to intertwine with flowers our cups and goblets. 

Ing. — What use is such a play thiug ? 

Par.— Use ? they are beautiful ; that is their use. The 
sight of them makes glad the eye ; their scent refreshes, 
cheers. There, is not that beautiful ? 

[^She fastens the half-finished garland round a cup, 
and presents it to him.'] 

Ing. — Ay — by the bright sun ! That dark green mixed 
up with the gay flowers ! Thou must teach our women 
to weave such garlands. 

Par. — That is soon done : thy wife herself shall soon 
weave wreaths as well as I. 

Ing. — (Laughing) — My wife ! my wife ! a woman, dost 
thou say ? I thank the gods not I. This is my wife— 
{points to his arms) — my spear, my sword, my shield; 
let him who will waste cattle, slaves, or gold, to buy a 
woman — not I — not I ! 

Par. — To buy a woman ! how ? Did I hear aright ? 
bargain for brides as you would slaves — buy them like 
cattle ? 

Ing. — Well, I think a woman fit only for a slave. We 
follow our customs as you yours. How do you in your 
city there ? 

Par. — Consult our hearts. Massilia's free-born daugh- 
ters are not sold, but bound by choice with bands as light 
and sweet as these I hold. Love only buys us there. 

Ing. — Marry for love — that 's strange ! I ciinuot com- 
prehend. I love my horse, my dogs, my brave companions. 



I 



i06 PAETHENIA. 

but no womA.^ \ What dost tliou mean by love ? — what 
is it, girl ? 

Far. — What is it ? 'T is of all things the most sweet— 
the heaven of life — or so my mother says : I never felt it. 

Iiig. — Never ? 

Pa7\ — No, indeed. Now look : this garland — how beau- 
tiful ! Here would I weave red flow^ers if I had them. 

Ing. — Yonder, there, in that thick wood they grow. 

Par. — There, sayest thou?- Oh, what a lovely red ! go 
pluck me some ! 

Ing. — I go for thee ! — the master for the slave ! and 
yet, why not ? I '11 go ! the poor child 's tired. 

Par. — Dost thou hesitate? 

Ing. — No ; thou shalt have the flowers, as fresh and 
dewy as the bush affords. \_ffe goes off."] 

Par. — I never succeeded half so well ; it will be charm- 
ing ! Charming ? and for whom ? Here among savages ! 
No mother here looks smiling on it. I am alone, forsaken ! 
But no, I '11 weep no more ! — no, none shall say I fear. 

Ingomar enters ivith a bunch offloivers. 

Ing. — There are the flowers. 

Par. — Thanks ! thanks ! Oh, thou hast broken them 
too short off" in the stem. 

[She throws some of them on the ground.'] 

Ing. — Shall I get thee more ? 

Par. — No ; these will do. 

Ing. — Tell me now about your home. I will sit here 
Qear thee. 

Par. — Not there ! thou art crushing all my flowers ! 

Ing. — (Seats himself at her feet) — Well, well ; I will sit 
bere then, and now tell mc, what is thy name? 

Par. — Parthcuia. 



PARTHENIA. 107 

Ing. — Parthenia! a pretty name! And now, Par- 
tlienia, tell me which you call love grows in the soul, and 
what love is. 'T is strange, but in that word seems some- 
thing fathomless like yonder ocean. 

Par. — How shall I say ! Love comes, my mother says, 
like flowers in the night — reach me those violets ; — it is 
a flame a single look will kindle, but not an ocean 
quench. Fostered by dreams, excited by each thought- 
love is a star from heaven, that points the way and leads 
us to its home — a little spot in Earth's dry desert, where 
the soul may rest — a grain of gold in the dull sand of 
life — a foretaste of Elysium ; but when, weary of this 
world's woes, the immortal gods flew to the skies, with 
all their richest gifts, love stayed behind, self-exiled for 
jxian's sake. 

Ing. — I never heard aught so beautiful ! — -but still I 
comprehend it not. 

Par. — Nor I, for I have never felt it ; yet I know a 
iiong my mother sung, that plainly speaks of love, at least 
Jo me. How goes it ? stay ! 

\_8ings dlowly, as if trying to recollect'] 

What love is, if thou wouldst be taught, 

Thy heart must teach alone — 
Two souls with but a single thought, 

Two hearts that beat as one. 

And whence comes love? — like morning's light 

It comes without thy call ; 
And how dies love ? — a spirit bright. 

Love never dies at all. 

And when — and when— 

Ing. — Go on ! 

Par, — I know no more. 



108 



TRIAL SCENE. 



Ing. — (^Impatiently) — Try ! — try ! 
Par. — I cannot now ; but at some other time I may 
remember. 

Ing. — (^Authoritatively') — Now ! Go on, I say ! 
Par. — (Springing up) — Not now ; I want more roses for 
my wreath ! — yonder they grow ; I will fetch them for 
myself. Take care of all my flowers and the wreath ! 

[Bum off.} 
Ing. — (In deep abstraction) — 

Two souls with but a single thought, 
Two hearts that beat as one. 

Translation from the German. 



TKIAL SCENE. 



From " Merchant of Venice," in which the following char' 
acters are introduced. 



DxxKE OF Venice. 
Antonio, a merchant. 
Bassanio, his intimate friend. 



Portia, the wife of Bassanio. 

Shylock, a Jew. 

Geatiano, the enemy of the Jew. 



The merchant Antonio had borrowed for his friend Bassanio, from Shylock, the 
Jew, the sum of 3000 ducats ; and Shylocic had caused to he inserted in the bond, 
the condition, that if Autonio should fail to make payment on a certain day, he 
Bhould forfeit a pound of llesh to be cut ofl' nearest his heart. 

Owing to losses, Antonio was unable to pay on the day appointed : and although 
his friends afterwards offered to make double, treble antl even quadruple payment 
to the Jew, the latter claimed, as he had a right, by the strict "law of Venice," 
exact fulfilment of the bond. In this scene Portia, the wife of Bassanio, a lady of 
high mental powers and great goodness, but here so disguised as a learned doctor 
and judge from Padua, as to be unrecognized even 1)y her own husband, is intro- 
duced to counsel with the Duke in the administration of justice. 

The parties appear in court before the Duke of Venice. 

DUKE — Give me your hand. Came you from old 
Bellario? 
Portia — I did, my lord. 
Duke — You are welcome : take your place. 
Are you acquainted with the difference 
That holds this present question in the court? 



TRIAL SCENE. 



109 



Portia — I am informed thoroughly of the cause. 
Which is the merchant here, and which the Jew ? 

Duhe — Antonio and old Shylock, both stand forth. 

Portia — Is your name Shylock ? 

Shylock — Shylock is my name. 

Portia — Of a strange nature is the suit you follow; 
Yet in such rule, that the Venetian law 
Can not impugn you as you do proceed. 
Vou stand within his danger, do you not ? ( To Antonio,) 

Antonio — Ay, so he says. 

Portia — Do you confess the bond ? 

Antonio- — I do. 

Portia — Then must the Jew be merciful. 

Shylock — On what compulsion must I ? tell me that, 

Portia — The quality of mercy is not strained ; 
It droppeth as the gentle rain from heaven 
Upon the place beneath ; it is twice blessed; 
It blesseth him that gives, and him that takes. 
'T is mightiest in the mightiest. It becomes 
The throned monarch better than his crown : 
His scepter shows the force of temporal power, 
The attribute to awe and majesty, 
Wherein doth sit the dread and fear of kings : 
But mercy is above this sceptered sway ; 
It is enthroned in the hearts of kings ; 
It is an attribute to God himself; 
And earthly power doth then show likest God'i 
When mercy seasons justice. Therefore, Jew, 
Though justice be thy plea, consider this — 
That, in the course of justice, none of us 
Should see salvation : we do pray for mercy ; 
And that same prayer doth teach us all to render 
The deeds of mercy. I have spoke thus much 
To mitigate the justice of thy plea ; 



110 TRIAL SCENE. 

Which if thou follow, this strict court of Venice 
Must needs give sentence 'gainst the merchant there. 

Shy lock — My deeds upon my head ! I crave the law. 
The penalty and forfeit of my bond. 

Portia — Is he not able to discharge the money ? 

Bassanio — Yes, here I tender it for him in the court; 
Yea, twice the sum ; if that will not suffice, 
1 will be bound to pay it ten times o'er, 
On forfeit of my hands, my head, my heart : 
If this will not suffice, it must appear 
That malice bears down truth. And I beseech you. 
Wrest once the law to your authority : 
To do a great right, do a little ivrong, 
A.nd curb this cruel devil of his will. 

Portia — It must not be ; there 's no power in Venice 
Can alter a decree established ; 
'T w' ill be recorded for a precedent ; 
And many an error, by the same example, 
Will rush into the state : it can not be. 

Shy lock — A Daniel come to judgment ! Yea, a Daniel* 
O wise young judge, how do I honor thee ! 

Portia — I pray you, let me look upon the bond. 

Shylock — Here 'tis, most reverend doctor; here it is. 

Portia — Shylock, there 's thrice thy money offered thee, 

Shylock — An oath, an oath, I have an oath in heaven : 
Shall I lay perjury upon my soul ? 
No, not for Venice. 

Portia — Why, this bond is forfeit ; 
And lawfully by this the Jew may claim 
A pound of fiesh, to be by him cut off 
Kearest the merchant's heart. Be merciful; 
Take thrice thy money ; bid me tear the bond. 

Shylock — When it is paid according to the tenor. 
It doth appear, 3^ou are a worthy judge ; 



TRIAL SCENE. Ill 

You know the law ; your exposition 

Hath been most sound. I charge you by the law. 

Whereof you are a well deserving pillar, 

Proceed to judgment : by my soul I swear, 

There is no power in the tongue of man 

To alter me. I stay here on my bond.. 

Antonio — Most heartily do I beseech the court 
To give the judgment. 

Portia — Why, then, thus it is : 
You must prepare your bosom for his knife. 

Shyloch — O noble judge ! O excellent young man I 
Portia — For the intent and purpose of the law 
Hath full relation to the penalty, 
Which here appeareth due upon the bond. 

Shylock — 'Tis very true: O wise and upright judge 1 
How much more elder art thou than thy looks ! 
Portia — Therefore, lay bare your bosom. 
Shylock — Ay, his breast ; 
So says the bond — doth it not, noble judge? — 
Nearest his heart ; those are the very words. 

Portia — It is so. Are there balance here, to weigh 
The flesh? 

Shylock — I have them ready. 

Portia — Have by some surgeon, Shylock, — on youi 
charge, — 
To stop his wounds, lest he do bleed to death. 
Shylock — Is it so nominated in the bond ? 
Portia — It is not so expressed ; but what of that ? 
'Twere good you do so much for charity. 

Shylock — I can not find it ; 'tis not in the bond. 
Portia — Come, merchant, have you anything to say ? 
Antonio — But little ; I am armed, and well prepared 
Give me your hand, Bassanio ! fare you well I 
Grieve not that I am fallen to this for you ; 



112 TRIAL SCENE. 

For herein fortune shows herself more kind 

Than is her custom : it is still her use, 

To let the wretched man outlive his wealth ; 

To view, with hollow eye and wrinkled brow, 

An age of poverty ; from which lingering penance 

Of such misery doth she cut me off. 

Commend me to your honorable wife : 

Tell her the process of Antonio's end ; 

Say, how I loved you ; speak me fair in death-, 

And, when the tale is told, bid her be judge. 

Whether Baesanio had not once a love. 

Repent not you that you shall lose your friend | 

And he repents not that he pays your debt ; 

For, if the Jew do cut but deep enough, 

I'll pay it instantly with all my heart. 

Fortia — A pound of that same merchant's flesh is thine 5 
The court awards it, and the law doth give it. 

Shyloch — Most rightful judge ! 

Portia — And you must cut this flesh from off his breast ; 
The law allows it, and the court awards it. 

Shyloch — Most learned judge ! A sentence ! come, pr©« 
pare. 

Portia — Tarry a little — there is something else — • 
This bond doth give thee here no jot of blood ; 
The words expressly are, a pound of flesh. 
Take then thy bond ; take thou thy pound of flesh ; 
But, in the cutting it, if thou dost shed 
One drop of Christian blood, thy lands and goods 
Are, by the laws of Venice, confiscate 
Unto the state of Venice. 

Gratiano — O upright judge! — Mark, Jew! — O learned 
judg-e! 

Shy lock — Is til at the law ? 

PoHia — Tliyseif shall see the act : 
For, as thou urgest justice, be assured 
Thou shalt have justice, more than thou desirest. 



TRIAL SCENE. 113 

Gratiano — O learned judge ! — Mark, Jew! — a learned 

judge ! 

Shy lock — I take this offer, then : pay the bond thrice. 
And let the Christian go. 

Bassanio — Here is the money. 

Portia — Soft ; 
The Jew shall have all justice — soft ! — nu haste — ^ 
He shall have nothing but the penalty. 

Gratiano — O Jew ! an upright judge ! a learned judge 1 

Portia — Therefore prepare thee to cut off the flesh. 
Shed thou no blood ; nor cut thou less, nor morCp 
But a just pound of flesh. If thou takest more, 
Or less than just a pound — be it but so much 
As makes it light or heavy in the substance, 
Or the division of the twentieth part 
Of one poor scruple — nay, if the scale do turn 
But in the estimation of a hair — 
Thou diest, and all thy goods are confiscate, 

Gratiano — A second Daniel — a Daniel, Jew ! 
Now, infidel, I have thee on the hip. 

Portia — Why doth the Jew pause ? take thy forfeiture 

Shylock — Give me my principal and let me go. 

Bassanio — I have it ready for thee ; here it is. 

Portia — He hath refused it in the open court ; 
' He shall have merely justice, and his bond. 

Gratiano — A Daniel, still say I ! a second Daniel I 
I thank thee, Jew, for teaching me that word. 

Shylock — Shall I not have barely my princi})al ? 

Portia — Thou shalt have nothing but the forfeiture, 
To be so taken at thy peril, Jew. 

Shylock — Why, then the devil give him good of it I 
I'll stay no longer question. 

Portia — Tarry, Jew ; 
The law hath yet another hold on you. 



114 TRIAL SCENE. 

It is enacted in the laws of Venice, 
If it be proved against an alien, 
That, by direct or indirect attempts, 
He seek the life of any citizen, 
The party, 'gainst the which he doth contrive, 
Shall seize one half his goods ; the other half 
Conies to the privy coffer of the state ; 
And the offender's life lies in the mercy 
Of the duke only, 'gainst all other voice. 
In which predicament, I say, thou standest; 
For it appears, by manifest proceeding, 
That indirectly, and directly too, 
Thou hast contrived against the very life 
Of the defendant ; and thou hast incurred 
The danger formerly by me rehearsed. 
Down, therefore, and beg mercy of the duke. 

Gratiano — Beg, that thou may'st have leave to hang 
thyself; 
And yet, thy wealth being forfeit to the state, 
Thou hast not left the value of a cord ; 
Therefore thou must be hanged at the state's charge. 

Buke — That thou shalt see the difference of our spirit^ 
I pardon thee thy life before thou ask it. 
For half thy wealth, it is Antonio's ; 
The other half comes to the general state. — Shakspeakr 



:( 



MARK ANTONY SCENE. 115 

MAEK ANTONY SCENE. 



Enter Brutus and Cassius, and a throng of Citizens. 

CITIZEN— We will be satisfied ; let us be satisfied. 
Brutus — Then follow me, and give me audience, 
friends. — 
Cassius, go you into the other street, 
And part the numbers. — 

Those that will hear me speak, let them stay here ; 
Those that will follow Cassius, go with him ; 
And public reasons shall be rendered 
Of Caesar's death. 

1st Cit. I will hear Brutus speak. 

2d Cit. — I will hear Cassius; and compare their reasons, 
When severally we hear them rendered. 

[^Exit Cassius, with some of the Citizens. Brutus 
goes into the rostrum.'] 

Sd Cit. — The noble Brutus is ascended : Silence ! 

JBru. — Be patient till the last. 
Eomans, countrymen, and lovers ! hear me for my cause; 
and be silent, that you may hear : believe me for mine 
honor; and have respect to mine honor, that you may 
believe : censure me in your wisdom ; and awake your 
senses, that you may the better judge. If there be any 
in this assembly, any dear friend of Caesar's, to him I 
flay, that Brutus' love to Csesar ^ras no less than his. If 
then that friend demand, why Brutus rose against Caesar, 
this is my answer, — Not that I loved Caesar less, but that 
I loved Rome more. Had you rather Caesar were living, 
and die all slaves ; than that Caesar were dead, to live all 
free men? As Caesar loved me, I weep for him ; as he 
was fortunate, I rejoice at it ; as he was valiant, I honor 



116 MAEE: ANTONY SCENE. 

him : but, as he was ambitious, I slew him : There are 
tears, for his love; joy, for his fortune; honor, for his 
valor : and death, for his ambition. Who is here so base, 
that would be a bondman ? If any, speak ; for him have 
I offended. Who is here so rude, that would not be a 
Roman ? If any, speak ; for him have I offended. Who 
is here so vile, that will not love his country ? If any, 
speak ; for him have I offended. I pause for a reply. 
Cit. — None, Brutus, none. [Several speaking at once.'] 
Bru. — Then none have I offended. I have done no 
more to Csesar, than you should do to Brutus. The ques- 
tion of his death is enrolled in the Capitol ; his glory not 
extenuated, wherein he was worthy ; nor his offences 
enforced, for which he suffered death. 

Enter Antony and others, with Caesar's body. 

Here comes his body, mourn'd by Mark Antony ; who, 
though he had no hand in his death, shall receive the 
benefit of his dying, a place in the commonwealth ; As 
which of you shall not ? With this I depart ; That, as I 
slew my best lover for the good of Rome, I have the 
same dagger for myself, when it shall please my country 
to need my death. 

Cit. — Live! Brutus, live! live! 

1st Cit. — Bring him with triumph home unto his house. 

2d Cit — Give him a statue with his ancestors. 

Zd Cit. — Let him be Csesar. 

Ath Cit. Csesar 's better parts 

Shall now be crown 'd in Brutus. 

1st Cit. — We'll bring kirn to his house with shoute 
and clamors. 

Bru. — My countrymen, — 

2d Cit. — Peace ; silence ! Brutus speaks. 

lat Cit. — Peace, ho! 



Mark antony scene. 117 

.B7-U. — Good countrymen, let me depart alone, 
And, for my sake, stay here with Antony t 
Do grace to Caesar's corpse, and grace his speech 
Tending to Caesar's glories ; which Mark Antony, 
By our permission, is allow'd to make. 
I do entreat you, not a man depart, 
Save I alone, till Antony have spoke. [^Exit^ 

1st Cit. — Stay, ho ! and let us hear Mark Antony. 

8(i Cit. — Let him go up into the public chair ; 
We '11 hear him : Noble Antony, go up. 

Ant. — For Brutus' sake, I am beholden to you. 

Ath Cit. — What does he say of Brutus ? 

2>d Cit. He says, for Brutus' sake. 

He finds himself beholden to us all. 

Ath Cit. — ' T were best he speak no harm of Brutus here. 

1st Cit. — This Csesar was a tyrant. 

^d Cit. Nay, that 's certain : 

We are bless'd that Rome is rid of him. 

2d Cit. — Peace ; let us hear what Antony can say. 

Ant. — You gentle Romans, — 

Cit. Peace, ho ! let us hear him. 

Ant. — Friends, Romans, countrymen, lend me your earsj 
1 come to bury Caesar, not to praise him. 
The evil that men do, lives after them ; 
The good is oft interred with their bones ; 
So let it be with Caesar. The noble Brutus 
slath told you, Caesar was ambitious; 
ii' it were so, it was a grievous fault ; 
And grievously hath Caesar answer'd it. 
Here, under leave of Brutus, and the rest, 
(For Brutus is an honorable man ; 
So are they all, all honorable men ;) 
Come I to speak in Caesar's funeral. 
He was my friend, faithful and just to me : 



118 MARK ANTONY SCENE. 

But Brutus says, he was ambitious ; 

And Brutus is an honorable man. 

He hath brought many captives home to Rome, 

Whose ransoms diet the general coffers fill : 

Did this in Csesar seem ambitious? 

When that the poor have cried, Csesar hath wept; 

Ambition should be made of sterner stuff; 

Yet Brutus says, he was ambitious ; 

And Brutus is an honorable man. 

You all did see, that on the Lupercal, 

I thrice presented him a kingly crown, 

Which he did thrice refuse. Was this ambition? 

Yet Brutus says he was ambitious ; 

And, sure, he is an honorable man. 

I speak not to disprove what Brutus spoke, 

But here I am to speak what I do know. 

You all did love him once ; not without cause ; 

What cause withholds you then to mourn for him? 

judgment, thou art fled to brutish beasts, 
And men have lost their reason ! — Bear with me ; 
My heart is in the c/)flin there with Csesar, 

And I must pause till it come back to me. 

Xst Cit. — Methiuks, there is much reason in his sayings 
2d Cit. — If thou consider rightly of the matter, 

Csesar has had great wrong. 

3(i Cit. Has he, masters? 

1 fear, there will a worse come in his place 

Ath Cit. — Mark'd ye his words ? He would not take 

the crown ; 
Therefore, 'tis certain he was not ambitious. 

Ist Cit. — If it be found so, some will dear abide it. 
2d Cit. — Poor soul ! his eyes are red as fire with 

weeping. 
3d Cit. — There's not a nobler man in Rome, than 

Antony. 



4 



III 



MAEK ANTONY SCENE. 119 

Ath Cit — Now mark him, he begins itguin lo bpeak. 

Ant. — But yesterday, the word of Csesar might 
Have stood against the world : now lies he there, 
And none so poor to do him reverence. 

masters ! if I were dispos'd to stir 

Your hearts and minds to mutiny and rage, 

1 should do Brutus wrong, and Cassius wrong, 
Who, you all know, are honorable men : 

I will not do them wrong ; I rather choose 

To wrong the dead, to wrong myself, and you, 

Than I will wrong such honorable men. 

But here 's a parchment, with the seal of Caesar, 

I found it in his closet, 't is his will : 

Let but the commons hear this testament, 

(Which, pardon me, I do not mean to read,) 

And they would go and kiss dead Caesar's woundi. 

And dip their napkins in his sacred blood ; 

Yea, beg a hair of him for memory, 

And, dying, mention it within their wills. 

Bequeathing it, as a rich legacy, ' 

Unto their issue. 

4ih Cit — We '11 hear the will : Bead it, Mark Antony. 

Cit. — The will, the will ; we will hear Ceesar's will. 

Ant. — Have patience, gentle friends, I must not read itj 
It is not meet you know how Csesar loved you. 
You are not wood, you are not stones, but men ; 
And, being men, hearing the will of Csesar, 
It will inflame you, it will make you mad : 
'Tis good you know not that you are his heirs; 
For if you should, O, what would come of it! 

Aih Cit. — Bead the will ; we will hear it, Antony ; 
You shall read us the will ; Caesar's will. 

Ant. — Will you be patient ? Will you stay a while? 
I have o'ershot myself, to tell you of it. 



120 MARK AKTOKY SCENE. 

I fear I wrong the honorable men, 

Whose daggers have stabb'd Csesar : I do fear it. 

4th Cit. — They were traitors : Honorable men ! 

Oit — The will ! the testament ! 

2d Cit. — They were villains, murderers : The will, read 
the will ! 

A7it — You will compel me then to read the will ? 
Then make a ring about the corpse of Caesar, 
And let me show you him that made the w-ilL 
Shall I descend ? And will you give me leave ? 

Cit — Come down. 

2d Cit. — Descend. {He comes down from the pulpif] 

Zd Cit. — You shall have leave. 

4ih Git. — A ring ; stand round. 

\st Cit. — Stand from the hearse, stand from the body. 

2d Cit. — Room for Antony; — most noble Antony. 

Ant. — Nay, press not so upon me ; stand far off. 

Cit. — Stand back ! room ! bear back ! 

Ant. — If you have tears, prepare to shed them no^v. 
You all do know this mantle : I remember 
The first time ever Csesar put it on ; 
'T was on a summer's evening, in his tent ; 
That day he overcame the Nervii : — 
Look ! in this place ran Cassias' dagger through : 
See, what a rent the envious Casca made : 
Through this, the well-beloved Brutus stabb'd ; 
And, as he pluck'd his cursed steel away, 
Mark how the blood of Caesar foUow'd it. 
As rushing out of doors, to be resolved 
If Brutus so unkindly knock'd, or no ; 
For Brutus, as you know, was Caesar's angel : 
Judge, O you gods, how dearly Cassar lov'd him I 
This was the most unkindest cut of all : 
For when the noble Caii.ar saw him stab. 



MARK ANTONY SCENE. 121 

Ingratitude, more strong than traitors' arms, 
Quite vanquished him : then burst his mighty heartj 
And, in his mantle muffling up his facej 
Even at the base of Pompey's statue, 
Which all the while ran blood, great Csesar fell. 
O, what a fall was there, my countrymen ! 
Then I, and you, and all of us fell down, 
Whilst bloody treason flourish'd over us. 
O, now you weep ; and, I perceive, you feel 
The dint of pity : these are gracious drops. 
Kind souls, what weep you, when you but behold 
Our Caesar's vesture wounded ? Look you here, 
Here is himself, marr'd, as you see, with traitors. 
1st Cit. — O piteous spectacle ! 
^d Cit — O noble Caesar ! 
M Cit.—O woful day ! 
Ath Cit. — O traitors, villains ! 
Ist Cit. — O most bloody sight ! 

2d Cit. — We will be revenged : revenge ", about, — 
seek, — burn, — fire, — kill, — slay ! — let not a traitor live. 
Ant. — Stay, countrymen. 

\st Cit. — Peace there : — Hear the noble Antony. 
2d Cit. — We'll hear him, we'll follow him, we'll die 

with him. 
Ant. — Good friends, sweet friends, let me not stir you up 
To such a sudden flood of mutiny. 
They, that have done this deed, are honorable : 
What private griefs they have, alus ! I know not. 
That made them do 't ; they are wise and honorable, 
And will, no doubt, with reasons answer you. 
I come not, friends, to steal away your hearts ; 
I am no orator, as Brutus is; 
But as you know me all, a plain blunt man. 
That love my friend, and that they know full well 



122 MARK ANTONY SCENE. 

Tiiat gave me public leave to speak of him. 
For I have neitlier wit, nor words, nor worth, 
Action, nor utterance, nor the power of speech. 
To stir men's blood : I only speak right on ; 
I tell you that which you yourselves do know ; 
Show you sweet Caesar's wounds, poor, poor dumb mouths, 
And bid them speak for me : But were I Brutus 
And Brutus Antony, there were an Antony 
Would ruffle up your spirits, and put a tongue 
In every wound of Csesar, that should move 
The stones of Rome to rise and mutiny. 
at— We '11 mutiny. 

1st Cit — We'll burn the house of Brutus. 
Sc? Cit. — Away then, come, seek the conspirators. 
Ant. — Yet hear me, countrymen ; yet hear me speak. 
Cit. — Peace, ho ! Hear Antony, most noble Antony. 
A7it. — Why, friends, you go to do you know not what : 
Wherein hath Csesar thus deserv'd your loves ? 
Alas, you know not — I must tell you then : — 
You have forgot the will I told you of. 

Cit. — Most true ; the will : — let 's stay, and hear the will. 
Ant. — Here is the will, and under CjBsar's seal. 
To every Roman citizen he gives. 
To every several man, seventy-five drachmas. 

2d Cit. — Most noble Csesar ! — we '11 revenge his death. 
Sd Cit. — O royal Csesar ! 
Ant. — Hear me with patience. 
Cit. — Peace, ho ! 

Ant. — Moreover, he hath left you all his walks; 
His private arbors, and new-planted orchards, 
On this side Tiber; he hath left them you. 
And to your heirs forever; common pleasures, 
To walk abroad, and recreate yourselves. 
Here was a Csesar ! AVhen comes such another ^ 



THE QUARREL OF BRUTUS AND CASSIUS, 123 

1st Cit. — jSTever, never ! — Come, awciy, away ! 
We'll burn his body in the holy place, 
And witn the brands fire the traitors' houses. 
Take up the body. [Exeunt Citizens with the body.] 

A7it. — Now let it work ! Mischief, thou art afoot, 
Take thou what course thou wilt ! — Shakspeare. 



THE QUAEREL OF BRUTUS AND CASSIUS. 



Julius C^sar. — Act IV. Scene III. 

CASSIUS — That you have wronged me doth appeal 
in this : 
You have condemned and noted Lucius Pella 
For taking bribes here of the Sardians ; 
Wherein my letters, praying on his side, 
Because I knew the man, were slighted off. 

Brutus — You wronged yourself to write in such a case. 

Cassius — In such a time as this, it is not meet 
That every nice offence should bear its comment. 

Brutus — Yet let me tell you, Cassius, you yourself 
Are much condemned to have an itching palm, 
To sell and mart your offices for gold 
To undeservers. 

Cassius — I an itching palm ? 
You know that you are Brutus that speak this, 
Or, by the gods, this speech were else your last. 

Brutus — The name of Cassius honors this corruption. 
And chastisement doth therefore hide its head. 

Cassius — Chastisement ! 

Brutus — Remember March, the Ides of March re- 
member I 



T24 THE QUARREL OF BRUTUS AND CASSIUS. 

Did not great Julius bleed for justice' sake ? 
What villain touched his body, that did stab, 
And not for justice? What, shall one of us, 
That struck the foremost man in all this world 
But for supporting robbers ; shall we now 
Contaminate our fingers with base bribes^ 
And sell the mighty space of our large honors^ 
For so much trash as may be grasped thus ? 
I had rather be a dog, and bay the moon 
Than such a Roman. 

Cassius — Brutus, bay not me. 
I '11 not endure it : you forget yourself, 
To hedge me in ; I am a soldier, I, 
Older in practice, abler than yourself 
To make conditions. 

Brutus — Go to ; you are not, Cassius. 

Cassius — I am. 

Brutus* — I say you are not. 

Cassius — Urge me no more, I shall forget myself; 
Have mind upon your health, tempt me no further. 

Brutus — Away, slight man ! 

Cassius — Is 't possible ? 

Brutus — Hear me, for I will speak. 
Must I give way and room to your rash choler? 
Shall I be frighted when a madman stares ? 

Cassius — O ye gods ! ye gods! must I endure all this? 

Brutus — All this? Ay, more; fret till your proud 
heart break ; 
Go, show your slaves how choleric you are, 
And make your bondmen tremble. Must I budge? 
Must I observe you? Must I stand and crouch 
Under your testy humor ? By the gods, 
You shall digest the venom of your spleen, 
Xhough it do split you ; for, from this day forth. 



THE QUARREL OF BRUTUS AND CASSIUS. 126 

I U use you for my mirth, yea, for my laughter. 
When you are waspish. 

Cassius — Is it come to this ? 

Brutus — You say you are a better soldier : 
Let it appear so ; make your vauntiug true, 
And it shall please me well ; for mine own part 
I shall be glad to learn of noble men. 

Cassius — You wrong me every way ; you wrong me, 
Brutus ; 
I said, an elder soldier, not a better ; 
Bid I say " better " ? 

Brutus — If you did, I care not. 

Cassius — When C^sar lived, he durst not so hava 
moved me. 

Brutus — Peace, peace ! you durst not so have tempted 
him. 

Cassius — I durst not ! 

Brutus — No. 

Cassius — What ? Durst not tempt him ? 

Brutus — For your life, you durst not. 

Cassius — Do not presume too much upon my love ; 
I may do that I shall be sorry for. 

Brutus — You have done that you should be sorry foil 
There is no terror, Cassius, in your threats ; 
For I am armed so strong in honesty 
That they pass by me as the idle wind. 
Which I respect not. I did send to you 
For certain sums of gold, which you denied me ; 
For I can raise no money by vile means ; 
Ye gods ! I had rather coin my heart, 
And drop my blood for drachmas, than to wring 
From the hard hands of peasants their vile traah 
By any indirection. I did send 
To you for gold to pay my legions. 



126 THE QUARREL OF BRUTUS AND CASSIUS. 

Which you denied me : was that done like Cassius ? 
Should I have answered Caius Cassius so ? 
When Marcus Brutus grows so covetous, 
To lock such rascal counters from his friends. 
Be ready, gods, with all your thunderbolts ; 
Dash him in pieces. 

Cassius — I denied you not. 

Brutus — You did. 

Cassius — I did not : he was but a fool 
That brought my answer back. Brutus hath rived m]f 

heart. 
A friend should bear hig friend's infirmities, 
But Brutus makes mine greater than they are. 

Brutus — I do not, till you practice them on me. 

Cassius — You love me not. 

Brutus — I do not like your faults. 

Cassius — A friendly eye could never see such faults. 

Brutus — A flatterer's would not, though they do appear 
As huge as high Olympus. 

Cassius — Come, Antony, and young Octavius, come, 
Eevenge yourselves alone on Cassius, 
For Cassius is aweary of the world : 
Hated by one he loves ; braved by his brother ; 
Checked like a bondman ; all his faults observed. 
Set in a note-book, learned, and conned by rote, 
To cast into my teeth. Oh, I could weep 
My spirit from mine eyes ! There is my dagger, 
And here my naked breast ; within, a heart 
Dearer than Plutus' mine, richer than gold : 
If that thou be 'st a Eoman, take it forth ; 
I, that denied thee gold, will give my heart : 
Strike, as thou didst at Caesar ; for, I know, 
When thou didst hate him worst, thou lovedst him better 
Than ever thou lovedst Cassius. 



II 



SONGS OF SEVEN. 127 

Brutus — Sheathe your dagger : 
Be angry when you will, it shall have scope ; 
Do what you will, dishonor shall be humor. 
O Cassius, you are yoked with a lamb 
That carries auger as the flint bears fire : 
Who, much enforced, shows a hasty spark, 
And straight is cold again. 

Cassius — Hath Cassius lived 
To be but mirth and laughter to his Brutus, 
When grief or blood ill-tempered vexeth him ? 

Brutus — When I spoke that, I was ill-tempered, too. 

Cassius — Do you confess so much? Give me yoar hand 

Brutus — And my heart, too. 

Cassius — O Brutus ! 

Brutus — What 's the matter ? 

Cassius — Have you not love enough to bear with me, 
When that rash humor which my mother gave me 
Makes me forgetful ? 

Brutus — Yes, Cassius ; and, from henceforth, 
When you are over-earnest with your Brutus, 
He '11 think your mother chides, and leave you so. 

Shakspeare. 



SONGS OF SEVEN. 



Seven Times One. — Childhood. 

Arrange as for a tableau — a garden scene, which you may prepare 
W^ith evergreens and pots of flowers, which may be borrowed or 
made up for the occasion, a rustic chair, a large garden vase, with 
trailing vines, and any thing else suitable and available. There 
iiiust be a background of evergreen trees, or such other greenery as 
you can command. If it is in the winter, a few artificial flowers can 
be fastened to the plants. 

In selecting a child for this recitation, have regard to talent rather 
than beauty. Any child will look well enough, but few have the 
talent to recite this poetry. Take some little girl with a clear, flex- 
ible voice, good natural intonation, and genius for reading. In 



t28 SONGS OF SEVEN. 

training her, the first requisite is that she speak every word dis« 
tinctly, and loud enough to be audible to the listeners ; and with 
this accuracy of pronunciation there must be nothing stiff' or me- 
chanical in rendering the sentiment of the poem. If you can make 
the child feel that she is that little girl among the flowers, she will 
do it all sweetly and naturally. The recitation will be the most ef- 
fective if she can be taught to recite as if talking to herself, with 
some appropriate action. For instance, she enters with a skipping- 
rope, or hoop, in her hands, or drawing a doll's wagon. As she 
comes down the path to the foot of the stage, she drops her play- 
things, looks closely at the leaves — brushes her hand over them ito 
see if they are wet, then says the first line — 

" There 's no dew left on the daisies and clover ; " 

then looking up at the sky — 

" There 's no rain left in heaven ; " 

then, in a congratulatory way, as if she had finished her work fiv 
that day, and was glad of it — 

" I 've said my ' seven times ' over and over" — 

then the last line, with a nod of the head at each word, and the in- 
variable sing-song that accompanies the multiplication table — 

" Seven — times — one — are — seven." 

In the same manner through all the stanzas. "When she says, " Oh, 
velvet bee, you're a dusty fellow," let her peer into some floAver, 
and then start back, as if she saw the bee in the flower. All such 
pretty gestures add much to the effect. But unless the child can do 
these gracefully and naturally, they had better not be attempted. 

THERE 'S no dew left on the daisies and clover, 
There's no rain left in heaven.; 
I 've said my " seven times " over and over. 
Seven times one are seven. 

I am old, so old I can write a letter ; 

My birthday lessons are done ; 
The lambs play always, they know no better: 

They are only one times one. 

Oh, moon ! in the night I have seen you sailing 

And shining so round and low ; 
Ton were bridit! ah brigrht! but your light is failing— 

You are nothing now but a bow. 



SONGS OF SEVEN. 129 

You moon, have you done something wrong in heaven, 

That God has hidden your face? 
I hope, if you have, you will soon be forgiven, 

And shine again in your pla.ce. 

Oh, velvet bee, you 're a dusty fellow. 

You 've powdered your legs with gold ! 
Oh, brave marsh-mary buds, rich and yellow, 

Give me your money to hold ! 

Oh, columbine, open your folded wrapper, 

Where two twin turtle-doves dwell ! 
Oh, cuckoo-pint, toll me the purple clapper 

That hangs in your clear green bell ! 

And show me your nest, with the young ones In itj 

I will not steal them away ; 
I am old ! you may trust me, linnet, linnet — 

I am seven times one to-day. 

Seven Times Two. — Romance. 

The same garden scene. A disordered pile of school-books and 
slates on the rustic seat. The garden vase should be standing nea? 
the front, and near it, perhaps lounging carelessly upon it, the 
school-girl of fourteen. She should be dressed in white, a garden 
hat or a long-stenmied flower in her hand. She stands there when 
the curtain rises, then lifting her head, looking upward and away, 
g,s if she heard the bells and saw the stee2>le, she begins to recite. ' 

This poem, as indeed the whole series, is soliloquy, and the per- 
fect effect can not be obtained unless it be recited as if unconscious 
of the audience. This unconsciousness is one of the finest effects of 
genius, and must be, in a certain way, real, and not assmned. If the 
girl reciting thinks more of herself than of the poetry, it will be im- 
possible to d© it Avell; but if she Ms genius to appreciate the poem, 
to become imbued with its spirit, she will interpret it truly. Very 
few gestures are accessary ; a locking up toward the steeple when 
she speaks to the bells, or a careless swinging of her garden hat, a 
toss of her head or a shrug of her shoulders, when it comes in natu- 
rally, will be appropriate and pretty. 

You bells in the steeple, ring, ring out your changes. 

How many soever they be, 
Acd let the brown meadow-lark's note, as he rangefl. 

Come over, come over to me. 



130 SONGS OF SEVEN. 

Yet birds' clearest carol, by fall or by swelling, 

No magical sense conveys, 
A.nd bells have forgotten their old art of telling 

The fortune of future days. 

" Turn again, turn again," once they rung cheerily 

While a boy listened alone ; 
Made his heart yearn again, musing so wearily 

All by himself on a stone. 

Poor bells ! I forgive you ; your good days are over. 

And mine, they are yet to be ; 
No listening, no longing shall aught, aught discover s 

You leave the story to me. 

The foxglove shoots out of the green matted heather. 

And hangeth her hoods of snow ; 
She was idle, and slept till the sunshiny weather ; 

Oh, children take long to grow. 

I wish, and I wish that the spring would go faster, 

Nor long summer bide so late ; 
And I could grow on like the foxglove and aster, 

For some things are ill to wait. 

1 wait for the day when dear hearts shall discover, 
While dear hands are laid on my head ; 

** The child is a woman, the book may close over, 
For all the lessons are said." 

1 wait for my story — the birds can not sing it. 

Not one, as he sits on the tree ; 
The bells can not ring it, but long years, oh, bring it J 

Such as I wish, it to be. 



SONGS OF SEVEN. 131 



Seven Times Three. — Love. 

Same garden scene, with subdued light, as near like moonlight as 
possible. A young lady, dressed in white, recites the poem. The 
same care must be taken that, vrhile the audience hear every word 
distinctly, she does not seem to spealc to the audience. Let her re- 
member she is talking to herself, to the night, to the flowers, and t« 
the absent lover, who is late in coming. 

I leaned out of window, I smelt the white clover, 
Dark, dark was the garden, I saw not the gate ; 
" Now, if there be footsteps, he comes, my one lover — 
Hush, nightingale, hush ! Oh, sweet nightingale, wait 
Till I listen and hear 
If a step draw^eth near, 
For my love he is late ! 

•* The skies in the darkness stoop nearer and nearer, 

A cluster of stars hangs like fruit in the tree, 
The fall of the water comes sweeter, comes clearer : 
To what art thou listening, and what dost thou see? 
Let the star-clusters glow. 
Let the sweet waters flow, 
And cross quickly to me. 

** You night-moths that hover where honey brims over 

From sycamore blossoms, or settle, or sleep ; 
You glow-worms shine out, and the pathway discover 
To him that comes darkling along the rough steep. 
Ah, my sailor, make haste. 
For the time runs to waste. 
And my love lieth deep — 

■ Too deep for swift telling : and yet, my one lover, 
I 've conned thee an answer, it waits thee to-night." 

By the sycamore passed he, and through the white clover, 
Then all the sweet speech I had fashioned took flight^ 



132 SONGS OF SEVEN. 

But I '11 love him more, more 
Than e'er wife loved before, 
Be the days dark or bright. 

Seven Times Four. — Maternity. 

The garden scene, brilliantly lighted. Seated upon tlie garden 
bench, the mother in a white dresri and matronly cap, weaving a 
garland of flowers; one or two little children are seated at her feet; 
two others, with flowers in their aprons, stand, at her knee. They 
hand the flowers to the mother, one by one. As she takes them, 
she exclaims to the children : 

" Heigh ho ! daisies and buttercups ! 

Mother shall thread them a daisy chain ; 
Sing them a song of the pretty hedge-sparrow," etc. 

The words, " Heigh ho ! " occur several times. She speaks them 
with archness and. vivacity, laughing and smiling, and nodding at 
the children, as if talking baby-talk and nonsense to the little ones. 
Sometimes, at the " Heigh ho ! " she holds up her garland, throws 
back her head, as if looking at the efiect, then, shaking it at the 
children, she laughs out the Avords, ''Heigh ho!'' etc. Sometimes 
she leans down and gives one of the children a merry little pat, or 
a sudden kiss. 

"Oh, bonny brown sons ! oh, sweet little daughters, 
Maybe he thinks on you now." 

It is impossible to specify particular gestures ; the whole tone and 
action of the reciter must illustrate what the Avords so perfectly ex- 
press, the sweetness and rich content of happy motherhood. 

Heigh ho ! daisies and buttercups. 

Fair yellow daffodils, stately and tall, 
When the wind wakes how they rock in the grasses, 

And dance with the cuckoo-buds, slender and small : 
Here's two bonny boys, and here's mother's own lasses, 
Eager to gather them all. 

Heigh ho ! daisies and buttercups ! 

Mother shall thread them a daisy chain ; 
Sing them a song of the pretty hedge-sparrow, 

That loved her brown little ones, loved them full fain ; 
Sing, " Heart thou art wide though the house be but 
narrow — " 

Sing once, and sing it again. 






gONGS OF SEVEl^. 133 

Heigh ho ! daisies and buttercups, 

Sweet wagging cowslips, they bend and they bow ; 
A ship sails afar over warm ocean waters. 

And haply one musing doth stand at her prow. 
Oh, bonny brown sons, oh, sweet little daughters, 
Maybe he thinks on you now ! 

Heigh ho! daisies and buttercups, 

Fair yellow daffodils, stately and tall ; 
A sunshiny world full of laughter and leisure, 

And fresh hearts unconscious of sorrow and thrall! 
Send down on their pleasure smiles passing its measure, 
God that is over us all. 

Seven Times Five. — Widowhood. 

In sharp contrast to the preceding merry scene comes the desola- 
tion of -widowhood. The lights should be somewhat subdued ; the 
garden scene as before ; but to the woman in widow's weeds all 
things seem changed. Alone and desolate she leans upon the gavden 
vase, her accents broken, her gestures slow and painful. Af she 
speaks the first words, she draws her hand slowly across her 'ore- 
head, as if to wipe out the pain and sad remembrance. 

The genius of the reciter must prompt the tones and action tfiai 
best interpret the exquisite pathos of this poem. 

I sleep and rest, my heart makes moan 

Before I am well awake ; 
" Let me bleed ! oh, let me alone, 

Since I must not break ! " 

For children wake, though fathers sleep, 
With a stone at foot and at head : 

Oh, sleepless God, forever keep, 
Keep both living and dead I 

I lift mine eyes, and what to see 

But a world happy and fair ; 
I have not wished it to mourn with me— 

Comfort is not there. 



, 



134 SONGS OF SEVEN. 

Oh, what anear but golden brooms 

And a Avaste of reedy rills ; 
Oh, what afar but the fine glooms 

On the rare blue hills 1 

I shall not die, but live forlore — 

How bitter it is to part ! 
Oh, to meet thee, my love, once more I— 

Oh, my heart, my heart ! 

No more to hear, no more to see ! 

Oh, that an echo might wake 
And waft one note of thy psalm to me 

Ere my heart-strings break 1 

I should know it, how faint soe'er, 

And with angel voices blent ; 
Oh, once to feel thy spirit anear, 

I could be content! 

Or once between the gates of gold, 

While an angel entering trod, 
But once — thee sitting to behold 

On the hills of God. 

Seven Times Six. — Giving in Marriage. 

Tlie garden scene. A lady richly dressed, as for a daughter's 
wedding, enters and recites the poem. As she retires, the curtain 
falls ; out rises a few moments later upon the ta'oleau of a bridal, 
the mother standing in the group. If this tableau is shown twice, 
the i^ositions should be changed the second time, the bride and 
groom kneeling, instead of standing. 

To bear, to nurse, to rear, 

To watch, and then to lose : 
To see my bright ones disappear, ; 

Drawn up like morning dews^ i 

To bear, to nurse, to rear, ■ | 

To watch, and then to lose i * f 

This have I done when God drew near 

Among his own to choose. 



SONGS OF SEVEN. 13^ 

To hear, to heed, to wed, 

And with thy lord depart 
In tears that he, as soon as shed, 

Will let no longer smart — 
To hear, to heed, to wed, 

This while thou didst I smiled, 
For now it was not God who said, 

" Mother, give me thy child." 

Oh, fond, oh, fool, and blind ! 

To God I gave with tears, 
But when a man like grace would find 

My soul put by her fears — 
Oh, fond, oh, fool, and blind ! 

God guards in happier spheres, 
'Ihat man will guard where he did bind 

Is hope for unknown years. 

To hear, to heed, to wed. 

Fair lot that maidens choose. 
Thy mother's tenderest words are said, 

Thy face no more she views ; 
Thy mother's lot, my dear, 

She doth in naught accuse ; 
Her lot to bear, to nurse, to rear. 

To love — and then to lose. 

Seven Tuvies Seven. — Longing foe Home. 

The curtain rises upon the garden scene, the same as at first, A 
iady, dressed in plain black, with a "white caj?, enters and comes 
alowly down the path to the front of the stage. Her form is slightly 
bowed, her hair is white, her face bears marks of age and suffering-, 
her hands are feeble and old. As she begins the poem, her voice j s 
tremulous, but gathers strength as she goes on, until at last it )e- 
comes clear and beautiful, as the vision of her heavenly home 
iights up her dim sight. As she speaks the last words, the cliorus of 

" Home, home — sweet, SM-eet home, 
I 'na waiting, dear Saviour, for Heaven, my homo,* 



iS6 SONGS OF SEVEI^. 

should be softly sung by a concealed choir. The lady starts with 
sui-prise, stands mute and listening, until the last notes die away 
and the curtain falls. 

A song of a boat : 

There was once a boat on a billow, 

Lightly she rocked to her port remote, 

And the foam was Avhite in her wake like snow, 

And her frail mast bowed when the breeze would wio-v^ 

And bent like a wand of willow. 

I shaded mine eyes one day when a boat 

Went courtesying over the billow ; 
I marked her course till, a dancing mote, 
She faded out on the moonlit foam, 
And I stayed behind in the dear loved home ; 
And my thoughts all day were about the boav 
And my dreams upon the pillow. 

I pray you hear my song of a t)oat, 

For it is but short; 
My boat, you shall find none fairer afloat, 

In river or port. 

Long I looked out for the lad she bore, 

On the o^Den desolate sea, 
And I think he sailed to the heavenly shore. 

For he came not back to me — 
Ah me ! 

A song of a nest : 
There was once a nest in a hollow, 
f)own in the mosses and knot-grass pressed 
Soft and warm, and full to the brim ; 
Vetches leaned over it, purple and dim, 
With buttercup buds to follow. 



SONGS OF SEVEN. 137 

I pray you hear my song of a nest, 

For it is not long : 
You shall never light in a summer quest 
The bushes among — 
Shall never light on a prouder sitter, 

A fairer nestful, nor ever know 
A softer sound than their tender twitter. 
That wind-like did come and go. 

I had a nestful once of my own, 

Ah, happy, happy I! 
Right dearly I loved them; but when they were grown 

They spread out their wings to fly — 
Oh, one after one they flew away 

Far up to the heavenly blue. 
To the better country, the upper day, 

And — I wish I was going, too. 

1 pray you, what is the nest to me. 

My empty nest ? 
And what is the shore where I stood to see 

My boat sail down to the west ? 
Can I call that home where I anchor yet. 

Though my good man has sailed ? 
Can I call that home where my nest was set, 

Now all its hope hath failed ? 
Nay, but the port where my sailor went, 

And the land where my nestlings be : 
There is the home where my thoughts are sent, 

The only home for me ! 
Ah me! 
Adapted from Jean Ingelow. 



138 ROMEO AND JULIET. 

ROMEO AND JULIET. 



Balcony Scene. 

OMEO — He jests at scars that never felt a wound. 

Juliet appears on the Balcony, and sits down. 
But soft ! What light through yonder window breaks ! 
It is the east, and Juliet is the sun ! 
Arise, fair sun, and kill the envious moon, 
Who is already sick and pale with grief. 
That thou, her maid, art far more fair than she. 
"It is my lady; Oh! it is my love: 
Oh, that she knew she were !" 
She speaks, yet she says nothing : what of that ? 
Her eye discourses : I will answer it. 

1 am too bold. Oh, were those eyes in heaven, 
They would through the airy region stream so bright, 
That birds would sing, and think it were the morn. 
See, how she leans her cheek upon her hand ! 

Oh, that I were a glove upon that hand. 
That I might touch that cheek ! 

Juliet — Ah, me ! 

Romeo — She speaks, she speaks ! 
Oh, speak again, bright angel ! for thou art 
As glorious to this sight, being o'er niy head, 
As is a winged messenger of lieaven 
To the up-turned wond'ring eyes of mortals. 
When he bestrides the lazy-pacing clou-L-, 
A.nd sails upon the bosom of the air. 

Juliet— Oh, Romeo, Borneo ! wherefore art thou Romeo? 
Deny thy father, and refuse thy name: 
Or, if thou wilt not, be but sworn my love, 
And I'll no longer be a Capulet. 

Romeo — Shall I hear more, or shall I speak at this? 



ROMEO AND JULIET. 139 

Juliet — 'Tis but thy name that is my enemy ! 
What's in a name? That which we call a rose, 
Bj^ any other name would smell as sweet; 
So Romeo would, were he not Romeo called, 
Retain that dear perfection which he owes 
Without that title ! Romeo, quit thy name; 
And for that name, vvhich is no part of thee, 
Take all myself. 

Romeo — I take thee at thy word ! 
Call me but love, I will forswear my name 
And never more be Romeo. 

Juliet — What man art thou, that, thus bescreened in 
night 
So stumblest on my counsel ? 

Roraeo — I know not how to tell thee who I am ! 
My name, dear saint, is hateful to myself, 
Because it is an enemy to thee, 

Juliet — My ears have not yet drunk a hundred words 
Of that tongue's uttering, yet I know the sound ! 
Art thou not Romeo, and a Montague ? 

Romeo — Neither, fair saint, if either thee displease. 

Juliet — How cam'st thou hither? — tell me — and for 
what? 
The orchard walls are high, and hard to climb ; 
And the place, death, considering w4io thou art. 
If any of my kinsmen find thee here. 

Romeo — With love's light wings did I o'er-perch these 
walls; 
For stony limits cannot hold love out; 
And what love can do, that dares love attempt; 
Therefore thy kinsmen are no stop to me. 

Juliet — If they do see thee here, they'll murder thee. 

Romeo — Alack, there lies more peril in thine eye, 
Than twenty of their swords ! look thou but sweet, 
And I am proof against their enmity. 



140 EOMEO AND JULIET. 

Juliet — I would not, for the world, they saw thee herel 
By whose direction fouud'st thou out this place ? 

Romeo — By love, who first did prompt me to inquire; 
lie loiit me coimsel, and I lent him eyes. 
1 am no pilot ; yet, wert thou as far 
As that vast shore washed with the furthest sea, 
I would adventure for such merchandisCo 

Juliet — Thou know'st, the mask of night is on my 
face, 
Else would a maiden blush bepaint my cheek. 
For that which thou hast heard me speak to-night! 
Fain would I dwell on form ; fain, fain deny 
What I have spoke! But farewell compliment! 
Dost thou love me ? I know thou wilt say— Ay, 
And I will take thy word ! yet, if thou swear'st, 
Thou may'st prove false; at lovers' perjuries 
They say, Jove laughs. Oh, gentle Borneo, 
If thou dost love, pronounce it faithfully ! 
Or, if thou think'st I am too quickly won, 
I'll frown, and be perverse, and say thee nay, 
So thou wilt woo! but else, not for the world. 
In truth, fair Montague, I am too fond : 
And therefore thou may'st tliink my 'haviour light I 
But trust me, gentleman, I'll prove more true 
Than those that have more cunning to be strange. 
I should have been more strange, I must confess, 
But that thou overheard'st, ere I was 'ware, 
My true love's passion ; therefore, pardon me, 
And not impute this yielding to light love. 
Which the dark night has so discovered. 

Romeo — Lady, by yonder blessed moon I vow — 

Juliet — Oh ! swear not by the moon, the inconstant 
moon 
That monthly changes in her circled orb; 



EOMEO AND JULIET. 141 

Lest that thy love prove likewise variable. 

Romeo — What shall I swear by? 

Juliet — Do not swear at all; 
Or, if thou wilt, sw^ear by thy gracious self, 
Which is the god of my idolatry, 
An*] I'll believe thee. 

Romeo — If my true heart's love — 

Juliet — Well, do not swear I Although I joy in thee, 
I have no joy of this contract to-night; 
It is too rash, too unadvised, too sudden, 
Too like the lightning, which doth cease to be, 
'Ere one cau say—It lightens. Sweet, good-night ! 
This bud of love, by summer's ripening breath, 
May prove a beauteous flower when next we meet. 
Good-night, good-night ! — as sweet repose and rest 
Gome to thy heart, as that within my breast ! 

Romeo — Oh, wilt thou leave me so unsatisfied ? 

Juliet — What satisfaction canst thou have to-night ? 

Romeo — The exchange of thy love's faithful vow for 
mine. 

Juliet — I gave thee mine, before thou didst request it ; 
And yet I would it were to give again- 

Romeo — Would'st thou withdraw it? for what purpose, 
love? 

Juliet — But to be frank, and give it thee again. 
My bounty is as boundless as the sea. 
My love as deep ; the more I give to thee, 
The more I have ; for both are infinite. 
I hear some noise within. Dear love, adieu! 

Nurse — [ Withhi] — Madam ! 

Juliet — Anon, good Nurse I Sweet Montague, be true 
Stay but a little, I will come again. [Exit from balconij.'^ 

Romeo — Oh ! blessed, blessed night ! I am afeard. 
Being in night, all this is but a dream. 
Too flattering sweet to be substantial. 



142 ROMEO AND JULIET. 

Re-enter Juliet, above, 

Juliet — Three words, dear Komeo, and good-night, 
indeed. 
If that thy bent of love be honorable, 
Thy purpose marriage, send me word to-morrow, 
By one that I'll procure to come to thee, 
Where, and what time, thou wilt perform the rite ; 
And all my fortunes at thy foot I'll lay; 
Aud follow thee, my lord, throughout the world._ 

Nurse — [ Wlthiii] — Madam ! 

Juliet — I come anon ! But, if thou mean'st not well, 
I do beseech thee — 

Nurse — [ Within] — Madam ! 

Juliet — By and by, I come ! 
To cease thy suit, and leave me to my grief. 
To-morrow will I send. 

Borneo — So thrive my soul — 

Juliet — A thousand times good-night ! 

Romeo — A thousand times the worse, to want thy 
light. lExit] 

Re-enter Juliet. 
Juliet — Hist! Romeo, hist! Oh, for a falconer's voice, 
To lure this tassel gentle back again ! 
Bondage is hoarse, and may not speak aloud ; 
Else would he fear the cave where Echo lies, 
And make her airy toogue more hoarse than mine, 
With repetition of my Romeo's name. 

Romeo entering. 

Romeo — It is my love that calls upon ray name ! 
How silver-sweet sound lovers' tongues by night. 
Like softest music to attending ears ! 

Juliet — Romeo ! 

Romeo — My sweet ! 



ROMEO AND JULIET. 143 

Juliet — At what o'clock to-morrow 
Shall I send to thee ? 

Romeo — At the hour of nine. 

Juliet — I will not fail : 'tis twenty years till then. 
[ have forgot why I did call thee back. 

Romeo — Let me stand here till thou remember it. 

Juliet — I shall forget, to have thee still stand there, 
Rememb'ring how I love thy ccfmpnny, 

Romeo — And I'll still stay, to have thee still forget, 
Forgetting any other home but this. 

Juliet — 'Tis almost morning ; I w^ould have thee gone^ 
And yet no further than a wanton's bird; 
Who lets it hop a little from her hand, 
And with a silk thread plucks it back again, 
So loving-jealous of its liberty. 

Romeo — I would I were thy bird. 

Juliet — Sweet, so would I ! 
Yet I should kill thee with much cherishing. 
Good-night, good-night ! Parting is such sweet sorrow 
That I shall say — Good-night, till it be morrow. 

[_Exit from balcony.'] 

Romeo — Sleep dwell upon thine eyes, peace in thy 
breast ! 
Would I were sleep and peace, so sweet to rest ! 
Hence will I to my ghostly father's cell ; 
His help to crave, and my dear hap to tell. 

Shakspeare. 



Shoemaker's Best Selections, No. 1 



Compiled by J. W. SHOEMAKER, A. M. 

Late President, and founder of The National School of Elocution and Oratory 

200 pages. Cloth binding, 50 cents ; Paper, 30 cents 

In addition to its value as a book of recitations this is an exceedingly 
g^ood number for school use owing to the great variety of pieces suitable 
for reading classes. The following pieces are among some of the mo.-t 
valuable ones. 



Abraham Lincoln, extract from a eulogy 
©n the martyred president, by Henry 
Ward Beecher. 

Annie and Willie's Prayer, an excellent 
Christmas piece. 

Betsy and I are Out, by Will Carleton. 
The Blue and the Gray, for Decoration 

Day. The ever popular class poem. 
The Boys, by Oliver Wendell Holmes. 
The Bridge, by Longffellow. 
The Charcoal Man, affording excellent 

opportunities for vocal gj'mnastics. 
The Child Wife, humorous, from David 

Copperfield. 
The Creeds of the Bells, containing 

splendid opportunities for vocal 

display. 
Crossing the Carry, humorous, by the 

popular author, "Adirondack" 

Murray. 
Death of Little Joe, and 
Death of Little Nell, both pathetic and 

both from Charles Dickens. 
Der Coming Man, German Dialect, by 

Chas. Follen Adams. 
The Djring Christian, excellent for 

Sunday-school entertainments, by 

Alexander Pope. 
Evening at the Farm, a b e a u t i f u 1 

pastoral poem, by J. T. Trowbridge. 
Experience with European Guides, 

humorous, by Mark Twain. 
Independence Bell, for Fourth of July 

occasions. 

The Irish School Master, a capital 
Irish Dialect piece. 

John Maynard, thrilling and heroic. 

iAUnch of the Ship, by Henry W. Long- 
fellow, excellent for vocal training. 

Memory of Washington, for Washing- 
ton's Birthday, by Edward Everett. 

The Modem Cain, a strong temperance 
recitation. 



Nobody's Child, exceedingly pathetic. 

The Old Yankee Farmer, Yankee Dia- 
lect. 

Palmerston and Lincoln, a strong piece 
of historical literature, by George Ban- 
croft. 

Patrick Dolin's Love Letter, Irish 
Courting. 

Pat's Excelsior, Irish parody on the 
original poem. 

A Piece of Bunting, 

The Relief of Lucknow, and The Rev- 
olutionary Rising, strong patriotic 
selections. 

Scrooge and Marley, a most interesting 
extract from Dickens' Christmas 
Carol. 

The Smack in School, very amusing. 

Spartacus to the Gladiators, popular 
with every school boy. 

Uncle Pete's Counsel to the Newly 

Married, Darkey Dialect. 
Why He Wouldn't Sell the Farm, 

pathetic and patriotic. 
William Tell, thrilling and patriotic. 
Will the New Year Come To-night, 

Mamma ? pathetic. 

The Following Gems from 
Tennyson : 
Break, Break, Break. 
Bugle Song. 
The dramatic Charge Of the Ligbt 

Brigade. 
Lullaby. 

The Old Year and the New, for New 
Year's. And 

The Following Shakkspkarean 
Extracts : 
Hamlet's Instructions to the Play^ei«> 
The Ghost Scene. 
Othello's Apology. 



Shoemaker's Best Selections No. 2 



Compiled by J. W. SHOEMAKER, A. M. 

Late President, and founder of The National School of Elocution and Oratory 

200 pages. Cloth binding, 50 cents : Paper, 30 cents 



This too, is a good number for use in reading classes. 
:many excellent pieces may be mentioned the following : 

Abigail Becker, a thrilling description 

of a rescue at sea. 
Andrew Jackson, a eulogy, and excel- 
lent for reading classes, by George 

Lippard. 
Arnold Winkelreid, a dramatic incident 

in the history of Switzerland. 
The Bam Window, good for reading 

classes, by Lucy Larcom. 
The Bells of Shandon, excellent for 

vocal culture. 
The Blacksmith's Story, a thrilling 

incident as a result of the War of the 

Rebellion. 
Black Ranald, a dramatic recitation by 

Phoebe Gary. 
Buck Fanshaw's Funeral, exceedingly 

humorous, by Mark Twain. 
A Christmas Carol, a pleasing little 

Christmas poem. 
Darius Green and His Flying Machine, 

humorous, by J. T. Trowbridge. 
Dowe'S Flat. 1856, a story of the early 

days of Galifornia, by F. Bret Harte. 
A Dutchman's Speech at an Institute, 

German Dialect. 
Bva's Death, pathetic, from Uncle 

Tom's Cabin, by Harriet Beecher 

Stowe. 
Excelsior, a world-wide popular poem, 

by Heniy W. Longfellow. 
The Ghosts, extract from Hiawatha, by 

H. W. Longfellow. 
Hezekiah Bedott, an extract from the 

famous Bedott Papers. 
How Mr. Coville Counted the Shingles 

on His House, by the Danbury News 

Man. Humorous. 
Kentucky Philosophy, sometimes 

known as the " Watermillion Story," 

Darky Dialect and very popular. 
Liberty and Union, the celebrated 

speech of Daniel Webster. 
Lochinvar's Ride, always popular, by 

Sir Walter Scott. 
Mark Twain and the Interviewer, 

humorous. 
The May Queen, Conclusion, pathetic, 

by Alfred Tennyson. 
iMiss Maloney on the Chinese Question, 

Irish humor, by Mary Mapes Dodge. 
?he Minute Men of '75, a beautiful 

patriotic address, by George William 

Curtis. 



Among the 



Mr. Coville on Danbury, humorous, by 
the Danbury News Man. 

The Nature of True Eloquence, excel- 
lent for declamation, by Daniel Web- 
ster. 

The New Church Organ, spinster char* 
acterization, by Will Carleton. 

A New Year's Address, a strong prose 
selection for New Year's occasions, 
b5 Dr. Edward Brooks, A. M. 

North American Indians, excellent for 
declamation. 

The Old Man in the Model Church, 
pathetic and excellent for old man 
characterization. 

The Old Clock on the Stairs, containing 
fine opportunities for voice culture, 
by Henry W. Longfellow. 

Oratory and the Press, good for decla- 
mation, by Daniel Dougherty. 

Over the Hill to the Poorhouse, pathetic, 
good opportunities for old woman 
characterization, by Will Carleton. 

The Polish Boy, exceedingly dramatic. 

The Puzzled Dutchman, German Dia- 
lect. 

The Red Jacket, dramatic description 
of a fire scene. 

Rum's Maniac, dramatic; excellent 
temperance selection. 

Schnieder Sees Leah, a German's ver- 
sion of a scene from Leah the For- 
saken, very popular. 

Sixty -Four and Sixty-Five, a good 
piece for G. A. R. entertainments. 

Socrates Snooks, the humorous experi- 
ence of a henpecked husband. 

The Soldier's Reprieve, a beautiful 
story in connection with the adminis- 
tration of President Lincoln. 

The Spanish Arm-ada, an historic poem 
of great dramatic opportunities, by 
T. B. Macaulay. 

Washington as a Civilian, for Washings 
ton's Birthday. 

The Yam of the Nancy Bell, humoro«^ 
a sailor's story, and 

The Following Shakespearbaj* 
Extracts : 
Cassius Against Caesar. 
Hamlet's Soliloquy, 
Wolsey's Fall, 



Siioemaker's Best Selections, No. 3 



Compiled by J. W. SHOEMAKER, A. M. 

l«ate President, and founder of The National School of Elocution and Oratosip 

200 pages. Cloth binding, 50 cents ; Paper, 30 cents 



Many good teaching pieces will be found in tliis number, also. The 
following are some of the most popular selections : 

Lides to Bary Jade, humorous descrip- 
tion of a man with a cold in his head. 

Little Golden Hair, child chaj-acteriza- 
tion. 



Adoon the Lane, a delicious bit of 

Scotch Dialect. 
The American Flag, a fine patriotic 

piece, by Joseph Rodman Drake. 
The Baby's First Tooth, humorous, 

by the Danbury News Man. 
Bardell and Pickwick, the famous trial 

scene, by Charles Dickens. 
The Baron's Last Banquet, dramatic. 
The Battle of Beal an' Duine, a strong 

war poem of Scotland, by Sir Walter 

Scott. 
The Burning Ship, a dramatic descrip- 
tion of a ship on fire. 
Claudius and Cynthia, a popular 

dramatic selection, scene in Rome. 
The Closing Year, for New Year's, by 

George D. Prentice. 
The Dutchman's Serenade, German 

Dialect. 
The Eagle's Rock, very dramatic. 
The Famine, from Hiawatha, by Henry 

W. Longfellow. 
A Florentine Letter, highly dramatic, 

by Susan Coolidge. 
Prom Exile, dramatic. 
The Gladiator, very dramatic, scene in 

Rome. 
Good-night, Papa, a beautiful temper- 
ance recitation. 
The Haunted House, a dramatic 

description, by Hood. 
The Hypochondriac, humorous. 
If I Should Die To-night, spiritual, 

and suited for Sunday-schools. 
The Indian Chief to the White Settler, 

a popular declamation, by Edward 

Everett. 
Jack and Jill, light humor, 
Sit Carson's Ride, a stirring incident 

of life on the prairie, by Joaquin 

Miller. 
f he Kitchen Clock, exceedingly popu- 
lar, by John Vance Cheney, 
taughin' in Meeting, humorous, by 

Harriet Beecher Stowe. 
Meensed to Sell; or, Little Bloesom, 

temperance. 



Maud MuUer, always popular, by John 

G. Whittier. 
The Monster Cannon, a dramatic 

description, by Victor Hugo. 
National Monument to Washington, 

for Washington's Birthday. 
Ode on the Passions, a superior teach. 

ing piece, especiaUy for voice culture, 

by Collins. 
The Painter of Seville, strong and 

popular. 
Parrhassius and the Captive, very 

dramatic, by N. P. Willis. 
Passing Away, familiar, but good. 
Poor Little Jim, a pathetic story of the 

mines. 
The Power of Habit, a striking tem 

perance selection, by John B. Gough. 
The Promise, spiritual, good for Sun- 
day-schools. 
Reaching the Early Train, humorous, 

by Max Adler. 
Reply to Mr. Corrj/, forensic orator>, 

good for teaching, by H. Grattan. 
Rock of Ages, very pretty, contain* 

singing parts. 
The Senator's Dilemma, humorous, by 

James De Mille. 
The Seven Ages of Man, from Shakes 

peare. 
Signs and Omens, German Dialect. 
Tell on His Native Hills, patriotic, h 

good teaching piece. 
The Three Fishers, tender and path-^ic^ 

by Charles Kingsley. 
Tom Sawyer's Love Affair, humorowij 

by Mark Twain. 
The Two Glasses, temperance, by Elte 

Wheeler Wilcox. 
The Vagabonds , pathetic, dramatic, 

and a good temperance piece, alwayf 

acceptable, by J. T. Trowbridge. 
Woman, a pleasing tribute to her 8e« 

by Tennysou. 



Shoemaker's Best Selections No. 4 



Compiled by J. W. SHOEMAKER, A. M. 

Late President, and founder of The National School of Elocution and Oratory 

200 pages. Cloth binding, 50 cents ; Paper, 30 cents 



This issue is characterized by the great number of patriotic pieces 
which it contains. In addition to this feature the following' selections may 
also be mentioned : 

A Man's a Man for a' That, a popular 
Scotch Dialect poem, by Robert Burns. 

The Angels of Buena Vista, a very dra- 
matic battle scene, by John G. Whit- 
tier. 

The Annuity, humorous, Scotch Dia- 
lect. 

Aunt Kindly, a good teaching piece on 
the conversational order, by Theo. 
Parker. 

Ye Baggage Smasher, humorous. 

The Battle of Bunker Hill, strong pa- 
triotic poem. 

Battle Hymn of the Republic, stirring 
patriotic poem, by Julia Ward Howe. 

The Black Horse and His Rider, a fine 
prose patriotic declamation, by 
Charles Sheppard. 

The Burning Prairie, a dramatic recita- 
tion, by Alice Carey. 

The Cause of Temperance, a strong 
temperance piece, by John B. Gough. 

Centennial Oration, a fine declamation, 
and also excellent for teaching pur- 
poses, by Henry Armitt Brown. 

The Christmas Sheaf, a Norwegian 
Christmas stor^'. 

Columbia, patriotic. 

Curfew Must Not Ring To-Night, 
familiar, but a very popular recita- 
tion, by Rose Hartwick Thorpe. 

Deacon Munroe's Story, humorous 
characterization. 

The Declaration of Independence, very 
convenient for Fourth of July occa- 
sions, as well as for reference pur- 
poses. 

Dora, a dramatic descriptive characteri- 
zation, by Tennyson. 

Dot Lambs Wot Mary Haf Got, a 
parody on the original poem in Ger- 
man DialecU 



The Fire, a dramatic description. 
The Gambler's "Wife, pathetic and dra- 
matic. 

The Ghost, sometim.es known as "Abel 
Law's Ghost," quaint Yankee 
humor. 

Grandmother's Story, an old woman's 

story of the Battle of Bunker Hill. 
The Great Beef Contract, exceedingly 

humorous, by Mark Twain. 
How a Ma.rried Man Sews on a Button, 

humorous, by The Danbury News 

Man. 

Judge Pitman on Various Kinds of 
Weather, humorous, by Max Adler. 

Kentucky Belle, a popular poem, de- 
scribing an incident of the Civ;) 
War, by Constance Fenimore Wool- 
son. 

Leap Year Wooing, humorous, by David 

Macrae. 
A Uegro Prayer, Darkey Dialect. 
No God, a strong moral selection. 

Ode to the Deity, a fine oratorical selec- 
tion, excellent for voice culture. 

Ode to the Legislature, a satirical poem, 
by John G Saxe. 

Battle of Lookout Mountain, a thrilling 
description by George H. Boker. 

The Rationalistic Chicken, humorous 

The Raven, old but still given by some 
of the best readers. 

Rienzi's Address, stirring declamation 

Tommy Taft, good for temperance oc- 
casions. 

Tribute to Washington, for Washing- 
ton's Birthday. 

The Union, a patriotic poem. 

Clarence's Dream and Mark Antony 
Scene- Shakespearean Extracts. 



Shoemaker's Best Selections No. 5 



Compiled by J. W. SHOEMAKER, A. M. 

Late President, and founder of The National School of Elocution and Orator? 

aoo pages. Cloth binding, 50 cents ; Paper, 30 cents 



Among the most popular recitations in this number are the 
following : 



The Ager, a humorous description of a 
sufferer with chills and fever. 

Archie Dean, a selection of the coquet- 
tish order, by Gail Hamilton. 

Bannock-Burn, a stirring- bit of Scotch 
poetry, by Robert Burns. 

The Bride of the Greek Isle, a dramatic 
recitation, by Mrs. Hemans. 

The Brook, a popular poem, by Tenny- 
son. 

Budge's Version of the Flood, child 
characterization, very amusing, by 
John Habbeiton. 

Catiline's Defiance, familiar but always 
a popular declamation. 

Course of Love Too Smooth, the amus- 
ing experience of a pair of lovers on 
a slipper>- night. 

Dedication of Gettysburg Cemetery, 
the celebrated speech of Abraham 
Lincoln. 

Elder Mr. "Weller's Sentiments on 
Literary Composition, from Pickwick 
Papers, by Charles Dickens. 

Fashionable Singing, a humorous re- 
presentation of fashionable singers. 

The Flood of Years, a strong oratorical 
selection, excellent for teaching, by 
William Cullen Brjant. 

Good Reading, an extract from an ex- 
cellent address on the subject of pub- 
lic reading, by Jolm S. Hart. 

Hans and Fritz, German Dialect. 

He Giveth His Beloved Sleep, a beauti- 
ful spiritual poem, by Mrs. Browning. 

Heroes of the Land of Penn, patriotic, 
having especial reference to the early- 
settlers of Pennsylvania, by Gearge 
Lippard. 

How "We Hunted a Mouse, humorous. 

John and Tibbie's Dispute, Scotch 
humor. 

^ke Last Hymn, describing a wreck at 
sea, pathetic and dramatic, part to be 
vanz. 



The Leak in the Dyke, a dramatic rec; 

tation by Phoebe Gary. 
Lost and Found, a pathetic stprv- of the 

Welsh Mines. 
Magdalena ; or, the Spanish Duel, 

humorous and popular, the incident 

is laid in Spain. 
The Maiden Martyr, ver\- pathetic. 
Membraneous Croup and the McWil- 

liamses, humorous, b\- Mark Twain, 
Moral Effect of Intemperance, a strong 

temperance piece, by Heury Ward 

Beecher. 
My Trundle-Bed, pathetic recollections 

of a mother's teachings. 
Old Ironsides, a patriotic tribute to the 

old frigate, "Constitution," by O. W. 

Holmes. 
Over the Hills and Far Away, a beauti« 

ful bit of pathos, by Miss Mulock. 
The Prisoner of Chillon, a very dra« 

matic Selection, by Byron. 
The Puritans, a strong prose descrip- 
tion of our forefathers, by T. B 

Macaulay. 
Samantha Smith Becomes Josiab 

Allen's Wife, humorous, by Josiab 

Allen's Wife. 
The Schoolmaster's Guests, a humor- 

ous characterization, by Will Carle- 
ton. 
The Swell's Soliloquy, impersonation 

of a dude. 
Swallowing a Fly, a bit of prose, 

characteristic of the author, T. De 

Witt Talmage. 
Tramp, Tramp, Tramp, a stirring tem- 
perance piece, by J. G. Holland. 
Uncle Daniel's Introduction to a Mis 

sissippi Steamer, one of the be* 

negro dialect pieces ever written, b> 

Clemens and Warner. 
Why Biddie and Pat Married, an amus 

ing Irish dialect recitation. 
Man's Ingratitude, and 
Prince Henry and Falstaff, Shak« 

spearean extracts. 



Shoemaker's Best Selections, No* 6 



Compiled by J. W. SHOEMAKER, A. M. 

l4ite President, and founder of The National School of Elocution and Oratory 
200 pages. Cloth binding, 50 cents ; Paper, 30 cents 



The following may be mentioned as among some of the most effeC' 
live recitations : 



Artemus Ward's London Lecture, one 

of the best humorous pieces ever 
written. 

Asleep at the Switch, a thrilling inci- 
dent in the experience of a switch 
tender. 

The Battle of Ivry, a standard dra- 
matic recitation, by T. B. Macaulay. 

The Bridge of Sighs, a popular pathetic 
poem, by Thomas Hood. 

Brother Anderson's Sermon, a superior 
negro dialect recitation, by Thomas 
K. Beecher. 

T*he Children's Hour, a poetic descrip- 
tion of the author's children, Henry 
W. Longfellow. 

A. Day at Niagara, a humorous descrip- 
tion of a visit to Niagara Fails, by 
Mark Twain. 

The Deserted House, a beautiful de- 
scription of lii'e and death, by Tenny- 
son. 

Doctor Marigold, sometimes known as 
the cheap Jack, excellent opportuni- 
ties lor characterization, by Charles 
Dickens. 

The Dukite Snake, an Australian bush- 
man's stor\-, extremely dramatic, by 
J. Boyle O'Reilly. 

Easter Morning, a pleasing Easter 
poem. 

Eve and the Serpent, a Frenchman's 
idea of the fall of man, humorous. 

Extract from the Last Days of Hercu- 
lanetim, a fine dramatic description. 

Father Phil's Collection, this is one of 
the best Irish dialect recitations, and 
is given by some of the most promi- 
nent readers. 

Setting Under Way, an amusing de- 
scription of sea-skkness, by Mark 
Twain. 

The Green MountaiH Justice, humor- 
ous. 

I^e Conquest, the incident is that of a 
wreck at sea, very dramatic. 



The Little Hatchet Story, one of the 

most popular humorous recitations in 
print. It is a description of the inci- 
dent of George Washington and the 
cherry tree. 
Miss Edith Helps Things Along, a 
humorous characterization of a pert 
child, by Bret Harle. 

Nae Luck Aboot the House, a pleasing 
Scotch poem. 

The Old Sergeant, a pathetic storv oi 

the Civil War. 
The Palmetto and the Pine, a ilgura^ 

five description of the North and 

South. 
Relentless Time, excellent for teaching 

by Henry W. Longfellow. 

The Ride of Jennie McNeal, a story o- 

colonial days, by Will Carleton. 
Robert of Lincoln, introducing bird 
songs, by William Cullen Bryant, 

Satan and the Grog Seller, a fine tern 

perance piece. 
School Called, a pleasing poem illus 

trative of school life. 
Song in the Night, an amusing sleep- 

ing-car incident introducing .=noring 

St. John, the Aged, a beautiful spirit 

ual poem. 
Thanatopsis, always popular, excel 

lent for teaching, by William Culleij 

Bryant. 
A Thanksgiving, a pleasing poem fo! 

Thanksgiving, by Lucy Larcom. 

Tom, a story of how a dog saves the 
life of a child in a fire, by Constance 
Fenimore Woolson. 

Valley Forge, a fine oratorical selectior., 

good for teaching, by Henry ArmiS 

Brown. 
Zekle, Yankee courting, by James Rus 

sell Lowell. 
The Dagger Scene, and 
From the Tragedy of King Jobs 

Shakespearean Extracts. 



Shoemaker s Best Selections No- 7 



Compiled by J. W. SHOEMAKER, A. M. 

iLate President, and founder of The National Sehool of Elocution and Oratorj 
aoo pages. Cloth binding, 50 cents ; Paper, 30 cents 



While it is the aim to make one number as good as another, this issue 
nas always been one of the most popular of the series. Following ara 
some of the most attractive selections : 



The Death of the Old Year, appropriate 
for New Year's, by Teinij-sou. 

i'he American "War, a fine forensic se- 
lection, by Lord Chatham. 

.4 Royal Princess, a strong dramatic 
recitation, b}- Chriscina Rossetti. 

Sister and I, pathetic and extremely 
popular. 

the Death of Nelson, a good teaching 
piece, by Robert Southey. 

The Night Before Christmas, always 
popular for Christmas entertainments. 

The Niglit After Christmas , a humorous 
sequel to the foregoing selection. 

A Parody, being a parody on Cassabi- 
anca ; or, The Boy Stood on the Burn- 
ing Deck. 

the Crescent and the Cioss, a beautiful 
contrast between Christianity and 
Moharamedisra, by T. B. A'drich. 

Seflections on Westminster Ahhey, ex- 
cellent literature, good for te^-ching, 
by Washington Irving. 

Our Traveled Parson, humorous, by 
Will Carleiou. 

Daisy's Faith^ popular child charac- 
terization. 

Eow Tom Sawyer Whitewashed Eis 
Fence, humorous, by Mark Twain. 

Cuddle Doon, a pleasing bit of Scotch 
Dialect. 

the Death of the Owd 'Squire, a irne 
dramatic piece. Scene in Yorkshire. 

Mine Katrine, German Dialect, by 
Charies Follen Adams. 

t&e Voice in the Twilight, good for 
Sunday-schools, by Mrs. Herrick 
Johnson, 

f&e Ship of Faith, an exceedingly good 
Wegro Dialect piece. 

Meoat Blanc Before Sunrise, a beauti- 
fti\ oratorical i>ot.'m, good for teaching, 



Surly Tim's Trouble, a pathetic aud 

ver}' popular piece ; used by the best 

readers ; Lancashire Dialect. 
The Village Blacksmith, always popu 

lar, by Henry W. Longfellow. 
Tom's Little Star, a humorous poem 

describing the experience of a stage* 

strucic woman. 
Marco Bozzaris, old but good, an excel- 

lent teaching piece, by Fitz-Greene 

Halleck. 
Fair Flay for Women, an appeal for the 

rights of woman, by George William 

Curtis. 
Masters of the Situation, a superiot 

teaching selection, byjames T. Fields 
Lighthouse May, an excellent selection, 

showing the heroism of a lighthouse 

keeper. 
A Model Discourse, humorous, some 

times known as the Old Mother Hub 

bard Sermon, 
The South Wind, a pleasing descrip 

tion, good teaching piece, by Heur^ 

W. Longfellow. 

The Wounded Soldier, pathetic ; the in 
cident is that of a dying soldier, Ver> 
popular. 

The Owl-Critic, very clever humor, bj 

Jamas T. Field.s. 
The Leper, a strong dramatic recitation 

by N. P. Willis. 
That Hired Girl, humorous. 
Old Robin, how a horsesaves his mastes 

from moral ruin, by j. T. Trowbridge. 
Hannah Binding Shoes, a beautiful and 

pathetic poem, by Lucy Larcom 
The Gray Honors the Blue, good fc^ 

Decoration Day, by Henry H- Wat 

terson. 
Paradise, an excellent encore piece. 
Widow Brown's Christma*. a pleashit 

Christmas story. 



Shoemaker's Best Selections, NOv 8 



Compiled by Mrs. J. W. SHOEMAKER 

Vice-President of The National School of Elocution and Oratory 
300 pages. Cloth binding, 50 cents ; Paper, 30 cents 



From the many good pieces in this 

doned : 

After Death, a beautiful spiritual poem, 
by Edwin Arnold. 

Reckoning With the Old Year, for New 
Year's. 

the Defense of Lucknow, a patriotic 
recitation, by Tennyson, 

JTations and Humanity, oratorical, by 
George William Curtis, 

The Emigrant's Story, the main inci- 
dent is that of a storm on the prairie, 
very popular, by J. T. Trowbridge. 

Mrs. McWilliams and the Lightning, 
humorous, by Mark Twain. 

1^ Christmas Carol, a magnificent poem; 
parts to be chanted, by Father Ryan. 

The Song of Steam, good for teaching. 

Setting a Hen, German Dialect, some- 
tiniRS known as Sockery Setting a 
Hen 

The Everlasting Memorial, good for 
Sunday-school entertainments, by Ho- 
ratius Bonar. 

€cene from Leah, the Forsaken, gen- 
erally known as the Curse Scene. 

Grandma Al' as Does, child characteri- 
zation, 

ffebuchadnezzer, Negro Dialect. 

the Temperance Question, an excellent 
temperance piece, by Wendell Phil- 
lips 

Better in the Morning, very pathetic 

Philosophy of Laughter, a laughing 
piece 

,!Bay Billy, an incident of the Civil War, 

[ good for Decoration Day. 

The King's Missive, 1661, a story of 
colonial times, by John G, Whittier, 

iltie Sky Somewhere, pathetic. 

Coney Island Down der Pay, German 
Dialect, by Henrj' Firth Wood. 

Tt» »ioviS Chief's Daugbter, very dr»- 



number the following may be men* 

matic and exceedingly populafj by 
Joaquin Miller. 

The Bald-Headed Man, very funny, in- 
troducing an inquisitive child. 

An International Episode, an encore. 

The Arrow and the Song, also a pleas' 
ing encore piece, by Henry W. Long- 
fellow. 

Rest, good for Sunday-schools^ by 
George MacDonald, 

Carl, dramatic. 

Enoch Arden, an extract from the popu> 
lar poem of that name, by Teimj'son. 

The Character of Washington, foi 
Washington's Birthday. 

A Practical Young Woman, humorous 

Over the Hill from the Poorhouse, a se 
quel to Over the Hill to the Poor' 
house, by Will Carleton. 

Peace in God, for Sunday-schools, by 
Mrs. Harriet Beecher Stowe 

Eeecher on Eggs, humorous. 

A Tale of the Yorkshire Coast, a pa- 
thetic selection in Yorkshire Dialect, 

An American Specimen, humorous, b» 
Mark Twain. 

Little Feot, pathetic. 

An Order for a Picture, a very accept 
able pathetic selection, always popu- 
lar. 

How ** Ruby " Played, a very humoi 
ous piece, giving a countryman's de- 
scription of the playing of Rubenstein 

Reply to Hajme, oratorical and good fcs 
teaching, by Daniel Webster. 

The First Quarrel, dramatic and pa 
thetic, by Tennyson. 

Vashti, very popular, by Julia C. R, 
Dorr. 

Her Letter, a story of early California 
scene iu Poverty Fist, by Biet Hftil« 



Shoemaker's Best Selections No. 9 



Compiled by Mrs. J. W. SHOEMAKER 



Vice-President of The National School of Elocution and Oratory 
200 pages. Cloth binding, 50 cents ; Paper, 30 cents 

Ttie following are some of the most popular pieces in this number: 



Mrs. "Walker's Betsy, a story of humble 
life told in graphic language. 

Bertha in the Lane, pleasing pathos, 
exemplifying a sister's sacrifice, by 
Mrs. Browning. 

Mrs. Ward's Visit to the Prince, supe- 
rior Yankee Dialect. 

Selling the Farm, a pathetic story of 
farm life. 

The "White Squall, humorous, by "Wil- 
liam M. Thackeray. 

Brier-Rose, a thrilling Norwegian 
story^ very- popular, by Hjalmar 
Hjorth Boyesen, 

4 Christmas Ballad, a pathetic Christ- 
mas story. 

The National Ensign, a patriotic decla- 
mation. 

Eoratius at the Bridge, heroic, very 
popular, by T. B Macaulay. 

Lookout Mountain, German Dialect. 

The Child on the Judgment Seat, moral 
and spiritual, good for Sunday- 
schools. 

The Sailing of King Olaf , beautiful sen- 
timent, excellent for vocal culture. 

The Palace of the King, Scotch Dialect. 

The Aged Stranger ; or, I Was With 
Grant, humorous incident of the Civil 
War, by Bret Harte. 

Baby's "Visitor, encore. 

Mine Vamily, German Dialect, by 
Charles Follen Adams. 

The Ideal, encore. 

Rover's Petition, good child's piece, by 
James T. Fields. 

Pwize Spwing Poem, a dude's poem. 

Potency of English Words, oratorical. 



excellent literature, good for teach^ 
ing, by John S. Macintosh, D. D. 

Thoughts for a New Year, for New- 
Year's. 

Master Johnny's Next-Door Neighbor, 
boy characterization, by Bret Harte. 

William Goetz, humorous. 

Connor, very pathetic and exceedingly 
popular. 

The Song of the Camp, introduces the 
song of Annie Laurie, by Bayard Tay- 
lor. 

Tribute to Washington, for "Washing- 
ton's Birthday, 

St. George and the Dragon, dramatic. 

The Yorkshire Cobbler, good for temper- 
ance occasions, Yorkshire Dialect. 

Sam's Letter, and extract from Our 
American Cousin, a humorous imper- 
sonation of an English lord. 

Unnoticed and Unhonored Heroes, ora 
torical. 

School Begins To-day, appropriate for 
the opening of schools. 

The Truth of Truths, excellent litera- 
ture, good for teaching, by Ruskin. 

Terpsichore in the Flat Creek Quarters^ 
describes a dance among the Negro«s, 
Darkey Dialect. 

The Widov/ and Her Son, beautiful and 
pathetic, by Washington Irving, 

Awfully Lovely Philosophy, characteri- 
zation of a gushing aesthetic young 
girl. 

Last Prayer of Mary, Queen of Scots, 
pathetic, the last hours of Queen 
Mary. 

The First Party, humorous, child qIiM' 
actarization- 



Shoemaker's Best Selections No 10 



Compiled by Mrs. J. W. SHOEMAKER 



yiee»President of The National School &i Elocution and Oratory 
200 Pages* Cloth binding, 50 cents ; Paper, ^o cents 
. Special mention may be made of the following,, which are some of Ih' 
pest pieces in tiiis number ; 

Eulogy on Garfield, eulogistic of the life 
and death of President Garfield, by 
Hon. James G. Blaine. 

The Phantom Ship, a tale of a slave 
ship, by Celia Thaxter. 

Despair, dramatic, by Tennyson. 

Washington Hawkins Dines With Col. 
Sellers, humorous, by Twain and 
Warner, 

Drifting, a pleasing and always popular 
poem, by Thcrmas Buchanan Read. 

The Law of Death, patnetic, by E^dwin 
Arnold. 

Tilghman's Ride, how he brought the 
news from Yorlttown to Philadelphia. 

k Frenchman on Macbeth, Frerich char- 
acterization. 

the Lost Found, pathetic, being an ex- 
tract from Evangeline, by Henry W. 
Longfellow. 

Dick Johnson's Picture, an interesting 
temperance story. 

Theology in the Quarters, Negro Dia- 
lect. 

The Death ol Roland, heroic, the inci- 
dent is that of a battle between the 
Christians and Saracens. 

To the Survivors of the Battle of Bun- 
ker Hill, patriotic and oratorical, also 
good forteacliing, by Daniel Webster. 

The Shriving of Guinevere, a fine dra- 
matic recitation, by Dr. S. Weir 
Mitchell. 

4 Reminiscence of Exhibition Day, hu- 
morous, by R. J. Burdette. 

The Blind Lamb, a pleasing child's reci- 
tation, by Celia Thaxter. 

The Old Year and the New, for New 
Year's, by Eben E. Rex ford. 

tittle Rocket's Christmas, a pleasing 
Christmas story, by Vandyke Brown. 

tarrie O'Dee, Irish Dialect. 

*^lM SchooUoastar Beaten, dramatic. 



excellent for characterization. Ae 

extract from Nicholas Nickleby, b? 

Charles Dickens. 
Dot Baby off Mine, German Dialect, by 

Charles Follen Adams. 
Caught In the Quicksand, dramatic, ex- 
cellent piece for teaching, by Victot 

Hugo. 
Kay, I'll Stay With the Lad, dramatic. 
Little Dora's Soliloquy, child eharac- 

terization. 
Rev. Gabe Tucker's Remarks, Negre 

Dialect. 
The Irrepressible Boy; introduces an in 

quisitive boy. 
Herve Riel, a fine dramatic recitation 

by Robert Browning. 
Jamie, dramatic and pathetiC; very 

popular. 
Armageddon, the war cry of the future 

by Edwin Arnold. 
Tammy's Prize, Scotch Dialect 
New England's Chevy Chase, patriotic 

by Edward Everett Hale. 
A Railway Matinee, very funny, excd 

lent opportunities for various imper 

sonations, by R. J. Burdette 
Mick Tandy's Revenge, pathetic, bu. 

with a pleasing ending. 
The Sky, excellent literature, a beauti 

ful description, good for teaching, bv 

Ruskin. 
Balaklava, a dramatic incident in the 

war ot Russia 
Chickamauga, patriotic, good for Deco 

ration Day. 
The Wayside Inn, pathetic, by Adelai<fe 

A, Procter, 
The True Story of Little Boy Blue, r 

pleasing child's piece, 
Rizpah, the familiar Bible story in blaiA 

verse, drataatic and patiietiCi parts tf> 

be sune 



Shoemaker's Best Selections No. II 



Compiled by Mrs, J. W. SHOEMAKER 



Vice-President of The National School of Elocution and Oratory 
200 pages. Cloth binding, 50 cents j Paper, 30 cents 

This has always been one of the most popular numbers of the series. 
Among the many pleasing selections in this number may be mentioned 
the following : 



Apostrophe to the Ocean, excellent for 
vocal training, by Byron. 

An Arctic Aurora, an interesting de- 
scription oi" the Northland. 

The Bobolink, affords opportunities for 
the inlrodacLion of bird tones. 

Catching the Colt, a good recitation for 
young folks. 

The Child MartjT:, an excellent child's 
piece. 

The Clown's Baby, a pleasing incident 
of life in a mining camp. 

The Convict*s Solilotiuy the Night Be- 
fore Execution, exceedingly dramatic 
and pathetic. 

Death of Little Domhey, pathetic, ex- 
tract from Domhey and Son, by 
Charles Dickens. 

The Dutchman's Snake, very amusing. 

Echo and the Ferry, a beautiful descrip- 
tion, good piece for impersonation, by 
Jean Ingelow, 

Flash, the Fireman's Story, an amus- 
ing incident of a milkman's horse that 
had served its time in the fire depart- 
ment, by Will Carleton. 

The Foxes' Tails; or, Sandy Macdon- 
ald's Signal. This is one of the most 
deservingly popular humorous pieces 
in print, and is given with marked 
success by the best readers. 

The Freckled-Faced Girl, humorous 
characterization of a pert young girl. 

The Front Gate, humorous. 

The Froward Duster, very amusing, by 
R.J. Burdette. 

&3ir&eld at the Wheel, patriotic. 

The Grandmother's Apology, old lady 
characterization, by Tennyson, 

EerName, child characterization, 

fwry, introducing the impersonation of 
a iwwaboy, very popular 



The Lisping Lover, encore. 

Little Gottlieb's Christmas, a pleasing 

Christmas story of Germany. 
Mice at Play, humorous, opportunities 

for a number of characterizations. 
Modern Facilities for Evangelizing the 

World, oratorical, by Henry \Vard 

Beecher. 
Mona's Waters, highly dramatic. 
The New Slate, child characterization. 

Nicodemus Dodge, humorous, by Mark 
Twain. 

No Kiss, encore. 

The Old Year and the New, for Nev» 

Year's, by Josephine Pollard. 
One Flower for Nelly, pathetic Easter 

piece, by Rose Hartwick Thorpe. 
The Prospects ox the Republic, oratori 

cal, by Edward Everett. 
Queen Vashti's Lament, dramatic ano 

pathetic. 
Rock Me to Sleep, pathetic. 
Romance of a Hammock, very clever 

humor. 
The Shadow of Doom, dramatic recital, 

by Celia Thaxter, 
Song of the Mystic, a beautiful moral 

and religious poem, by Father Ryan. 
Sunday Fishin', Negro Dialect. 
Supposed Speech of John Adams on the 

Declaration of Independence, patri- 
otic, by Daniel Webster. 
A Telephonic Conversation j humorous, 

by Mark Twain. 
This Side and That, encore, by George 

MacDonald. 
Thora, a Norwegian story, very popa« 

lar, by Hjalmar Hjoilh Boyesen. 
Ticket 0' Leave, dramatic, by Georg« 

R. Sims. 
Where's Annette? dramatic. 
The Wonders of Genealogy, humoroue 



Shoemaker's Best Selections No. 12 



Compiled by Mrs. J, W. SHOEMAKER 



Vice-President of The National Scliool of Elocution and Oratory 
200 Pages, Cloth binding, 50 cents ; Paper, 30 cents 

Special mention may be made of the following superior selections ; 



Aunty Doleful' s Visit, the incident is 
that of an old lady trying- to cheer 
a sick niece by telling her all sorts of 
distressing news, by Mary Kyle Dal- 
las. 

A.UX Italiens, an exceedingly popular 
selection, parts may be sung, by Ro-b- 
ert Bulwer Lytton. 

The Ballad of Cassandra Brown, a tra- 
vestie on some of the modern forms of 
exaggerated elocution. 

The Battle-Flag of Shenandoah, a pa- 
triotic poem pertaining to the Civil 
War, by Joaquin Miller. 

The Bells, a superior selection for vocal 
culture, by Edgar A. Poe. 

Bells Across the Snow, a pleasing 
Christmas poem, by Frances Ridley 
Havergal. 

The Bishop's Visit, a good child's reci- 
tation, by Emily Huntingdon Nason. 

The Blind Poet's Wife, a pleasing: nar- 
rative and an excellent recitation, by 
Edwin Coller. 

The Book Canvasser, humorous, by 
Max Adler, 

A Brother's Tribute, a strong heroic 
and pathetic selection, good for G. A, 
R, occasions. 

The Country School, humorous. 

Earnest Views of Life, an instructive 
declamation, by Austin Phelps, D. D. 

An Eastertide Deliverance, A. D. 430, 
good for Easter occasions. 

The Engineer's Making Love, humor- 
ous, by Robert J. Burdette. 

The Fall of Pemberton Mill, one of the 
most pathetic, dramatic, and generally 
effective recitations in print, contains 
singing parts, is exceedingly popular, 
by Elizabeth Stuart Phelps, 

A Fly's Cogitations, a humorous de- 
scription of a fly's meditations during 
its progress over the scalp of a bald- 
headed man. 

^Od-bye, a good encore piece, illustrat- 
ing how women say good-bye to each 
other. 

The Grace of Fidelity, a good Sunday- 
school selection. 

ttoW Girls Study, humorous, good op- 



portunities for impersonation of dif 

ferent girl characters. 
How the Gospel Came to Jim Oaks, pa 

thetic, a story of a mining camp. 
Interviewing Mrs. Pratt, an amusing 

experience of a reporter attempting tc 

interview the wives of a Mormon. 
Jesus, Lover of My Soul, a very pleas- 
ing selection, parts to be sung, bj' Eu- 

gene J. Hall. 
Jimmy Brown's Steam Chair, very 

amusing. 
Lasca, dramatic and pathetic, scene in 

Texas on a cattle ranch, exceedingly 

popular. 
The Legend of the Beautiful, a strong 

spiritual piece, by Henry Vv'. Longfel- 
low. 
Lincoln's Last Dream, a pathetic poem, 

good for recitation, by Hezekiah Bub 

terworth. 
The Maister an' the Bairns, Scotch 

Dialect. 
Mine Schildhood, German Dialect, by 

Charles Follen Adams. 
The Newsboy's Debt, a pathetic poent. 

by Helen Hunt Jackson. 
Over the Orchard Fence, old farmei 

characterization. 
Poor House Nan, pathetic, by Lucv H. 

Blinn. 
Popular Science Catechism, humor 

ous. 
Receiving Calls, humorous ; extracts 

from the diary of a minister's wife. 
Santa Claus in the Biines, a poi>iilai 

Christmas story of a mining can^p. 
The Serenade, a g-ood encore piece. 
She Cut His Hair, humorous, by the 

Danbury News Man. 
The Skeleton's Story, a fine dramatic 

description — prairie scene. 
A Story of Chinese Love, a good encore- 
piece. 
Teddy McGuire and Paddy O'Flyni? 

Irish Dialect. 
Temperance, a strong address on thai 

subject by the Rt. Rev. John Ireland 
ATer'ble 'Sperience, Negro Dialect, bv 

Rev. Plato Johnson. 
Total Annihilation, a good encoif 

piece, sometimes known as " Thes* 

aint gain' t« be no e^re.'* 



Shoemaker's Best Selections No. 13 



Compiled by Mrs. J. W. SHOEMAKER 

Vlce-=President of The National School of Elocution and Oratory 
200 pages. Cloth binding, 50 cents ; Paper, 30 cents 



This issue has also been one of the popular numbers of the series, 
Among some of the good pieces which it contains are the following : 

S'he Abbess's Story, a dramatic de- 
scription, by Henry W, Longfellow. 

After-Dinner'Speech hy a Frencbman, 
good French impersonation. 

The Ancient Miner's Story, pathetic, 
by Will Carleion. 

Aristarchus Studies Elocution, a trav- 
estie on some kinds of modern elo- 
cution. 

At Last, a beautiful spiritual poem, by 
John G. Whittier. 

Aunt Polly's George WasMngton, Ne- 
gro Dialect. 

Banford's Burglar Alarm, exceeding!}' 
amusing and very popular. 

C5.nada, a pleasing tribute to ourneigh- 
bors across the border. 

The Chase, very dramatic, by Walter 
Scotc. 

A Child's Dream of a Star, very pa- 
thetic, by Charles Dickens. 

The Chopper's Child, a good child's 
piece, by Alice Carey. 

The Cloud, a beautiful description and 
a good teaching piece. 

Ego et Echo, good encore piece, afford- 
ing excellent opportunities for dis- 
playing the voice, by John G. Saxe. 

Ths Humblest of the Earth Children, 
fine descriptive piece, good for teach- 
ing, bv Ruskin. 

In the Signal Box, a Station-master's 
Story, exceedingly pathetic but with 
a pleasing ending, by Geo. R. Sims. 

Jehoshaphat's Deliverance, good for 

Sii!id:iv-schools. 

The Little Quaker Sinner, a good girl's 
piece. 

Lead the Way, a fine declamation, by 
Lvman Abbott. 

The Legend of the Organ Builder, apa- 
thetic description and a very popular 
piece, bv Julia C, R. Dorr. 

Let the Angels Ring the Bells, a pleas- 
ing Christmas pocn. 

Lord Dundreary in the Country, a very 
taking extract from " Our American 
Cousin," impersonation of an Eng- 
lish lord. 

Mary's Night Ride, an extract from 
" Dr. Sevier." It is an incident of the 



Civil War and is a very thrilling and 
dramatic selection ; exceedhigly popu- 
lar, by George W. Cable. 

Memorial Day, appropriate for Decora- 
tion Dav. 

A Methodist Class Meeting, humoroua 
and pathetic, Yorkshire Dialect. 

Mine Shildren, German Dialect, by 
Charles Folien Adams, 

Mother and Poet, dramatic and pa- 
thetic, very popular, by Mrs. Brown- 
ing. 

A New Cure for Rheumatism, the treat- 
ment is the application of bees to the 
afflicted parts, ver\- popular, by Rob- 
ert J. Burdette. 

The Hew Year, or "Which Way, appro- 
priate for New Year's, by Lym.an Ab- 
bott. 

The Old Continentals, a pleasing tribute 
to the soldiers of colonia.1 times. 

The Old Man Goes to Town, excellent 
opportunity for old-man characteriza- 
tion. 

On the Stairway, encore. 

Out to Old Aunt Mary's, one of the 
popular poems of the author, James 
Whitcomb Riley. 

Our Relations to' England, oratorical 
and a good teaching piece, by Edward 
Everett- 
Re gulus to the Carthagenians, familiar 
to all, but still a most acceptable decla- 
mation, by E, Kellogg. 

A Rhymlet, encore. 

Song of the American Eagle, a good 
patriotic poem. 

The Spring Poet, humorous. 

The Two Stammerers, the incident is 
that of two persons who claim to hare 
been cured of stammering, but it is a 
question which is the worse stammer- 
er of the two, veiy amusing an^ 
popular. 

TheV-a-S-e, illustration of the differ- 
ent pronunciations of the word in 
different localities, humorous and a 
good encore piece. 

The Yosemite, a sublime description o* 
the far-famed California Valley, 



Shoemaker's Best Selections No. 14 



Compiled by Mrs. J. W. SHOEMAKER 

Vice-President of The National School of Elocution and Oratory 

»oo pages. Cloth binding, go cents ; Paper, 30 cents 



The following are among the popular selections in this number! 



Ballad of the Wicked Nephew, a good 
humorous piece, by James T. Fields. 

Battle of Morgarten, heroic, the inci- 
dent is that of a battle between the 
Swiss and Austrians, by Mrs. He- 
mans. 

Be a Woman, a beautiful and popular 
poem, by Dr. Edward Brooks, A. M. 

Bill and Joe, a pleasintj and cleyer hu- 
morous selection, by Oliver Wendell 
Holmes. 

Brudder Yerkes's Sermon, Negro Dia- 
lect. 

The Cow and the Bishop, a capital hu- 
morous selection containing excellent 
opportunities for impersonation. 

A Culprit, humorous, by Margaret Van- 
d eg rift. 

Daniel Gray, a beautiful description, by 
J. G. Holland. 

The Day is Done, the ever-pleasing and 
popular poem, by Longfellow. 

The Death of Steerforth, an exceeding- 
ly dramatic extract from David Cop- 
perfiekl, by Charles Dickens. 

Destiny of America, oratorical. 

Domestic Economy, humorous, by the 
Danburv News man. 

The Drufiimer Eoy of Mission Ridge, 
excellent for G. A. R. occasion-?.. 

The Finding of the Cross, a good mis- 
sionary piece. 

Going for the Cows, a description of 
country life, introducing various calls, 
by Eugene J. Hall. 

The Great Issue, oratorical, good for 
teaching, by Edward Everett. 

Jimmy Brown's Sister's Wedding, 
very funny. 

June, the well-known poem, by James 
Russell Lowell. 

Jupiter and Ten, encore, by James T. 
Fields. 

King Harold's Speech to His Army Be- 
fore the Battle of Eastings, heroic, 
by BulwerLytlon. 

The Lady Judith's Vision, a pleasing 
Christmas poem. 

The Last Charge of Ney, oratorical. 

The Life-Boat, pathetic, but with a 
pleasing ending, by Geo. R. Sims. 

tfilttaxy Supremacy Dangerous to Lib- 



erty, oratorical, good for teaching, bf 
Henry Clay. 

The Miseries of War, also oratorical 
and good for teaching, by Chalmers. 

Money Musk, description of a negro 
dance, excellent opportunities fo( 
characterization, very popular, 

A Mother's Portrait, 'a very pathetic 
poem, familiar but always acceptable, 
b}' Cowper. 

Mr, Winkle Puts On Skates, humor- 
ous, by Charles Dickens. 

Nearer Home, a beautiful spiritual 
poem, bv Phcebe Gary. 

The Night Watch, very dramatic, by 
Francois Coppee. 

Pockets, a strong descriptive piece, by 
Julian Hawthorne. 

The Puritan, a tribute to our fore- 
fathers, by George William Curtis. 

The Romance of the Swan's Nest, a 
beautiful description, by Mrs. Brown- 
ing. 

A Second Trial, how a boy almost 
failed in his commencement oration, 
but was saved by his sister from do- 
ing so : very popular, by Sara Winter 
Kellos-g, 

The Ship of State, patriotic, an excel- 
lent declamation. 

Sister Agatha's Ghost, humorous, 
Yorkshii-e Dialect. 

The Soldiers' Home, Washington, for 
G. A. R. occasions, by Joaquin Miller. 

The Sweetest Picture, a most accept- 
able pathetic poem, by Alice Carv. 

A Tear of Repentance, a beautiful de- 
scription, by Thomas Moore. 

The Tender Heart, encore, by Helen 
Gray Cone. 

Thoughts for the New Year, for New 
Year's. 

Thre« Leaves from a Boy's Diary, 
humorous. 

The Twenty-second of February, fof 
Washington's Birthday, by Wiiliana 
Cullen Brvant. 

The Victor of Marengo, excellent decla- 
.mation, good for teaching. 

The Widow Cummiskey, clever Irish 
wit. 

Ulysses, a pleasing description, goo4 
for teaching, by Tennyson. 



Shoemaker's Best Selections No. 15 



Complied by Mrs. J. W. SHOEMAKER 

Vice-President of The National School o* EJocution and Oratory 

300 Pages, Cloth binding, so cents j Paper, 30 centa 



for Recitals this is one of the best numbers in the series. The foliow-ng 
may be mentioned as among the popular pieces ; 



America, a patriotic poem. 

The Bachelors, excellent humor. 

The Bartholdi Statue, an eloquent 
tribute to the Goddess of Liberty, by 
Julian Hawthorne, 

Beautiful Hands, pleasing sentiment. 

Becalmed, very dramatic. 

Childhood Scenes, a beautifnl descrip- 
tion. 

Christmas Guests, a good Christmas 
story. 

rhe City of Is, a fanciful poem. 

Commerce, a strong declamatory selec- 
tion, good for teaching, by Edward 
Everett. 

A Concord Love Song, encore. 

David's Lament for Absalom, pathetic 
and popular, excellent for teaching, 
by N. P. Willis. 

The Death of Jezebel, very dramatic. 

Der Oak und der Vine, German Dialect, 
very popular, by Charles Folien 
Adams. 

The Fading Leaf, a beautiful descrip- 
tion, by Gail Hamilton. 

Fall In ! i860, an incident in the forma- 
tion of the Southern Army ; an excel- 
lent piece for characterization, by 
George W. Cable. 

Flag of the Rainbow, patriotic, by 
Thomas Dunn English. 

The Golden Bridge, humorous 

Grant's Place in History, an histori- 
cal description. 

The Gray Champion, a fine teaching 
piece, embodying the spirit of Ameri- 
can freedom', by Nathaniel Haw- 
thorne. 

Guessing Nationalities, humorous, 
good piece for characterization, by 
Mark Twain. 

En the Children's Hospital, pathetic, by 
Tennyson. 

Ireland to be Ruled by Irishmen, Irish 
patriotism, good for declamation, by 
William E. Gladstone. 

Jem's Last Ride, pathetic. 

King Arthur and Queen Guinevere, ex- 
trrct from ' Guinevere " ; a beautiful 
xadtation, by Tennyson. 



The Kiss Deferred, a pleasing pathetic 

poem, very popular. 
La Tour d'Auvergne, heroic. 
Little Christel, a child's piece. 
Little Foxes, an instructive selection, 

bv R.J. Burdette, 
Little Maid with Lovers Twain, hu 

morous. 
Manhood, a stirring declamation, bv 

George K. Morris, D. D. 
Mr. Beecher and the Waifs, a pleasing 

incident that occurred in his ovm; 

church. 
Mrs. Picket's Missionary Box, good 

for missionary occasions. 
Music in Camp, frequently known as 

" Music on the Rappahannock," parts 

to be sung, very popular. 
An Old Roundsman's Story, for Christ- 
mas, by Margaret Ey tinge. 
Our Choii", encore. 
Our First Experience with a Watcb 

Dog, an extract from " Ruddtt 

Grange,*' very amusing and popular 

by Frank R. Stockton. 
A Perfectly, Awfully, Lovely Story, 

an ccsthetic exaggeration. 
The Price of a Drink, good for temper 

ance occasions, by Josephine Pollard 
She Wanted to Hear it Again, encor-e 
Speech Against the Stamp Act, ora- 
torical, and a good teaching piece, by 

James Otis. 
A Song for the Conquered, a stirring 

patriotic poem. 
A Story of an Apple , a good recitation 

for a boy, by Sydney Dyer. 
A Strange Experience, a good girl's 

piece, by Josephine Pollard. 
The Three Kings, a good descriptive 

poem, by Henry W. Longfellow. 
A Tragedy on Past Participles, humor- 
ous. 
The Two Runaways, Negro Diakct, 

humorous, very popular, by H. S. 

Edwaids. 
Watch Kight, for New Year's, by 

Horatius Bonner. 
The World We Live In, one of the au 

thor's characteristic graphic deaciip 

txous, by T, De Witt Talmage, 



Shoemaker's Best Selections No. 16 



Complied by Mrs. J. W. SHOEMAKER 

Vice-President of The National School of Elocution and Oratory 
aoo pages. Cloth binding, 50 cents ; Paper, 30 cents 



This issue has always been one of the popular numbers of the series 
Special mention may be made of the following excellent selections : 



The Angel and the Shepherds, a de- 
scription of the birth of Christ, being 
an extract from " Ben Hur " ; can be 
accompanied with musical interludes, 
by Lew Wallace. 

Back from the War, a graphic descrip- 
tion ; good for G. A. R. occasions, by 
T. De Witt Talmage. 

The Battle Hymn, oratorical and good 
for teaching. 

Calls, a minister's somewhat curious 
boy endeavors to get an explanation 
of ministerial calls ; very funny. 

The Chariot Race, a fine description 
and a strong dramatic selection ; one 
of the most popular pieces ever writ- 
ten, an extract I'rom " Ben Hur," by 
Lew Wallace. 

The Christening, an amusing incident 
of how a child was misnamed in the 
christening. 

The Curse to Labor, a strong appeal 
for temperance among the laboring 
classes, by T. V. Powderly. 

The Day of Judgment, an amusing in- 
cident of two children who thought 
the world had come to an end, by 
Elizabeth Stuart Phelps. 

Decoration Day, a beautiful patriotic 
poem, by Wallace Bruce. 

The Elf Child, sometimes known as 
' The Gobble-uns'll Git You," by 
James Whitcomb Riley. 

The First View of the Heavens, a 
beautiful description. 

Fraudulent Party Outcries, oratorical 
and a good teaching piece, by Daniel 
Webster. 

How the Celebrated Miltiades Peterkin 

, Paul Got the Better of Santa Glaus, 

i a very amusing Christmas story. 

An Invitation to the Zoological Gar- 
dens, a very funny stuttering piece. 

The Jefful, affords good opportunities 
for baby talk and cries, by John Hab- 
berton. 

|immy Hoy, a capital Irish Dialect 
prose selection, by Samuel Lover, 

Wly Servoss's Ride, a fine dramatic se- 
lection. The incident takes place at 



the close of the War during the rav- 
ages of the Ku-Klux, by Judge Tour* 
gee. 

The Message of the Dove, a dramatic 
Easter poem, by E. Nesbit. 

The Mourner a la Mode , a satirical poem 
on the mourning custom as observed 
in fashionable circles, by John G. 
Saxe. 

The New South, a graphic description 
of the present condition of the South, 
by Henry W. Grady. 

An Old Sweetheart of Mine, a verypopU' 
lar poem, by James Whitcomb Riley. 

A Pin, clever humor, by Ella Wheelei 
Wilcox. 

The Portrait, very dramatic and ex- 
ceedingly popular, by Lord Lytton. 

Praying" for Shoes, pathetic, by Pau, 
Hamilton Havne. 

Song of the Mountaineers, a patriotic 
poem, by T. Buchanan Read. 

The Tell-Tale Heart, a murderer's con- 
fession, exceedingly dramatic, by Ed- 
gar Allen Poe. 

That Waltz of Von Weber, a beautifu' 
rhythmical poem, by Nora Perry. 

The Thanksgiving in Boston Harbor, - 
splendid Thanksgiving piece, by He 
zekiah Butterworth. 

Topsey's First Lesson, an extract from 
" Uncle Tom's Cabin," very funny and 
affording excellent opportunities for 
characterization, by Harriet Eeechei 
Stowe. 

Toussaint L' Ouverture, oratorical, by 
Wendell Phillips. 

The Two Pictures, the story of a beau- 
tiful child, who when grown to man* 
hood was found in a felon's cell. 

The Uncle, a man had murdered his 
brother and in attempting to tell the 
story to his nephew reveals his iden« 
titv, intensely dramatic, by H. G. 
Bell. 

Water and Rum, one of the author's 
most stirring appeals for temperance, 
by John B. Gough. 

Wisdom Dearly Purchased, excellew* 
declamation, by Edmund Burket 



LIBRARY OF CONGRESS 



022 204 650 6 
Shoemaker's Best Selections No. 17 



Compiled by Mrs. J. W. SHOEMAKER 

Vice-President of The National School of Elocution and Oratory 
aoo Pages. Cloth binding, 50 cents ; Paper, 30 cents 



This is also one of the good numbers of the series, by some consid 
ered one of the best. Among the many good pieces may be mentioned 
the following: 



Alexander's Feast ; or, the Power 0* 
Music, a beautiful rhythmical poerM, 
popular as a recitation and good for 
teaching, by Dryden. 

Army of the Potomac, an exce'.I'-'tit 
poem, for G. A. R. occasions, by Joa- 
quin Miller. 

The Army of the Potomac, a spVndid 
prose Selection, also good forG. A. R. 
occasions, by Chauncey M. Defjrw. 

Aunt Melissy on Boys, Yankee Dialect, 
very amusing throughout, the particu- 
lar incident being that of t j7.keys be- 
coming intoxicated by eating corn 
soaked in i"um, by J. T. Tiowbridge. 

Aunt Sylvia's First Lessjn in Geogra- 
phy, Negro Dialect, ar. old Negro 
woman's first attempc at the study of 
geography. 

Colloquial Powers cf IPr. Franklin, a 
strong descriptiv'e piece, good for 
teaching. 

Dead on the Field Di Konor, a good dec- 
lamation. 

Easter Morning, ar Easter-tide oration, 
by Henry Ward Beecher. 

The First' Thanksgiving, a beautiful 
poem for Thanksgiving occasions, by 
Hezekiah Buttervvorth. 

The Garfield Statue, an eloquent trib- 
ute to the martyred President, by Hon. 
Grover Cleveland. 

The Heavenly Guest, a spiritual poem, 
translated from the Russian of Count 
Tolstoi, by Celia Thaxter. 

How We Fought the Fire, an amusing 
poem, descriptive of afire in a country 
village, by Will Carleton. 

Inge, the Boy King, an excellent dra- 
matic selection, Norwegian scene, by 
Hjalmar Hjorth Boyesen. 

Jimmy Brown's Prompt Obedience, hu- 

■ morous. 

J^bor, a prose declamation, by Thomas 
Carlyle. 

The Land of Thus and So, a fanciful 
poem, by James Whitcomb Riley. 

The Legend of Rabbi Ben Levi, a beau- 
tiful and instructive poem, by Henry 
W. Longfellow. 

(Lexington, a patriotic poem pertaining 



to Revolutionary times, by Olivet 
Wendell Holmes. 

The Little Match Girl, a pathetic Christ- 
mas story, by Hans Cliristian Ander- 
sen. 

Lord Dundreary's Riddles, a popular 
extract from " Our American Cousin," 
impersonation of an English lord. 

Lost, an excellent dramatic piece, good 
for temperance occasions, by L. M. 
Cunard. 

Love of Countrj'', patriotic and a good 
teaching piece, by Newton Booth. 

The Low-Backed Car, very popular 
Irish Dialect poem, humorous, by 
Samuel Lover. 

The Minuet, a pleasing poem, introduc- 
ing the minuet step. 

The Monk's Magnificat, a very popu- 
lar poem in which a chant is effec- 
tively introduced, by E. Nesbit. 

Mr. Brown Has His Hair Cut, a very 
amusing prose selection. 

The Poor and the Rich, a fine moral 
and instructive poem, by James Rus- 
sell Lov.'eil. 

The Ride of Collins Graves, a thrilling 
description of the bursting of a dam, 
by John Boyle O'Reilly. 

Rome and Carthage, a strong dramatic 
declamation, bv Victor Hugo. 

The Rustic Bridal ; or, the Blind Girl 
of Castle Cuille, a beautiful descrip- 
tive poem, affording opportunities for 
impersonations, by Henry W. Long- 
fellow. 

Sent Back by the Angels, pathetic and 
a ver\- popular selection. 

The Silver Plate, the incident is that o< 
a child offering itself as a contribu- 
tion to a missionary collection, by 
Margaret J. Preston. « 

TookNodice, German Dialect. 

The Usual Way, verv clever humor. 

The Vow of Washington, eulogistic o» 
the work of Washington, by John G. 
Whittier. 

What is a Minority? a fine oratoricai 
selection, by John B. Gough. 

A Wild Night at Sea, a strong dramatic 
description, by Charles Dickens. 



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LIBRftRY OF CONGRESS '< 

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022 204 650 6 ti 



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